


The-Boy-Who-Vanished

by LunartheDragon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boy-Who-Lived Draco Malfoy, Everyone Has Issues, Everything is Different, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Nonverbal Character, Series Rewrite, Sign Language, Slytherin Harry Potter, What-If, all relationships are later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2019-11-07 23:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 102,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17970221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunartheDragon/pseuds/LunartheDragon
Summary: A single change of heart can alter all of history as we know it.With the birth of their only child the Malfoy's reconsider their position in You-Know-Who's army, not certain they want their baby raised in such a nightmarish world, and attempt to flee. All is for naught, however, as the Dark Lord catches up to them, furious with their betrayal.In the aftermath a father is gone and a mother once again protects her son from a terrible fate. Voldemort is defeated by the love laid on an infant, and Draco Malfoy, the Boy-Who-Lived, becomes famous through all Wizarding kind, both for his seemingly heroic deeds, and for the fact that no one knows where on earth he went...





	1. Definitely Not Magic

“It happened again,” the quiet whisper left a young Draco Malfoy in a gust, frightened to break the calm silence of the front yard garden, the streetlights flicking on as the sun began to set and shadows stretched long like claws across the ground. The garden was small, pressed against the front porch and curving around the right side of the property, housing herbs and vegetables alike with a few flowers decorating the edges. It was freshly weeded, Draco’s doing. It was usually his responsibility to tend the gardens, even when his pale skin began to burn from the sun, namely due to his ability to deal with the natural residents.

Ever since he could remember Draco was good with animals, but especially snakes. They always calmed down in his presence, slithering around his feet and even letting him scratch their heads. When he had begun to play and take care of the snakes in the garden his foster parents, Mr and Mrs Nubble, had been concerned, but upon realizing he could manage them and they were beneficial for ridding their gardens of vermin they had allowed him to continue.

“I didn’t mean to,” Draco continued, sitting in the dirt, speaking lowly to three, little snakes that slithered around his legs. One was entirely brown, named Muddy, another was white with dark eyes, named Snowflake, and the third was nearly black, named Shadow. Shadow didn’t seem to be paying attention, but Muddy and Snowflake were staring at Draco like they were actually listening to him. Like they were actually aware. Sometimes Draco even imagined them talking back to him.

“Frederick was just…” Draco cuts himself off with a very dramatic, very frustrated growl, looking skyward for a moment. He wasn’t sure how long he had been hiding out here, amongst the hanging tomatoes and onion sprouts. He had run as fast as he could out of his foster home when “it” happened, trying to get away from one of his two foster siblings.

Frederick King was the oldest of all of the foster house’s children. He had hazelnut hair parted and slicked the way Mrs Nubble liked it save for one rebellious strand on the top of his head. His eyes were thin and dark and his nose was big and pointy, perfect for jamming it into things that didn’t concern him. He was probably Draco’s least favorite of his foster siblings. They already had remarkably strict and serious caregivers, they didn’t need a third, yet Frederick had taken it upon himself to do just that.

The older boy had been lecturing Draco over something or other, like he always was, while Mrs Nubble was at work and Mr Nubble was somewhere in the kitchen preparing dinner. Draco had been trying to ignore him, like he always did, but Frederick was particularly shrill and obnoxious today and Ada, the other foster child, wasn’t around to help bail Draco out. Slowly a very frustrated buzz began to set in at the back of Draco’s skull, sometimes an indicator of a headache, sometimes of stress, sometimes of both. He’d gotten more and more agitated with each passing shriek and with a snap it vanished and Frederick very suddenly had bubblegum pink skin.

And now here Draco was…

He didn’t know why these things happened to him. He already had a notably un-normal life in his foster home, but it felt like fate just wouldn’t give him a break. He was pale as snow with light, light blonde hair that made him stand out no matter where he was. They had wondered if perhaps he were albino, but after a doctor’s visit it was determined he was just like this. 

It made Draco wonder what his parents may have looked like… Mr and Mrs Nubble had said they had found him on their stoop when he was an infant, swaddled up and wailing. They didn’t know where he had come from. All that they knew, from a quickly scrawled note left with him, was his name was Draco Lucius Malfoy, his birthday was the 5th of June, and he needed a home.

He had no idea who his parents were or whether they yet lived or not, but he wished he could find them. He wished they were alive and out there, waiting for him, willing to answer all of his questions. Why did they leave him? Why did strange things always happen to him? Why did he have a bizarre, if cool, blossoming lightning scar over his heart?

But he couldn’t. He wanted them to be alive, to want him, but he had a bone deep, cold feeling that they were no longer of this world. He had no way of explaining how he knew this, but he had no way of explaining most things anyway.

Something bumping his hand pulls Draco out of his musings and he looks down where Muddy is nudging his fingers. _No moping, now,_ Draco imagines her saying and smirks to himself. He scratches lightly at her head and then she’s turning away to probably go searching for food. Snowflake remains, staring up at Draco without moving, almost like he’s waiting for something.

“Draaaaaaacooooo!” The sudden, loud call startles the white snake and he slithers away quickly, vanishing into the plants. Draco scowls at being interrupted and looks up towards the house, seeing a tall girl smirking at him.

Ada Babbage was the middle foster child and had chaotic, dark curls she kept in a ponytail, sharp, clever blue eyes, and a rebellious, uncaring streak that put her at odds with Frederick on more than one occasion. She would probably be Draco’s favorite, if one could say he had favorites. Yes, they all looked out for each other. Yes, the Nubbles took good care of them. Yes, Frederick, Ada, and Draco shared an experience not many others could understand. That didn’t make them “family.” They didn’t feel like that to Draco, and apparently the same went for the other two kids.

But Ada was his least disliked. Usually.

“You done running away?” Ada arches a brow, still smirking, and Draco scowls even deeper.

“I wasn’t running away. I’ve been here the whole time,” he retorts, not getting off the ground just to be petulant. Ada gives a single shoulder shrug.

“Fine. You done hiding like a big baby?” she questions and Draco scoffs, flipping his head and looking away, showing just how unhappy he is.

“Is Frederick’s skin back to normal?”

Here Ada’s smirk turns into a grin. “He took a shower and it turned blue!” she laughs loudly and Draco looks back at her, panic building in his gut. What? It had gotten WORSE? “Oh, relax, you big worry wart. It faded after that.” One of the reasons Ada was Draco’s least disliked was her complete disregard for these unexplainable events. Where the Nubbles and Frederick demanded answers and got frustrated when he had none, Ada thought it was all rather wicked and funny.

“Did I miss dinner?” Draco asks at length, hiding his relief that Frederick was back to normal.

“We saved you some pot roast,” Ada replies absently, but she’s looking away from Draco now, off towards the road. The blonde’s brows furrow in confusion then glances over where she’s looking.

Sitting there, on the edge of their neighbor’s yard, is a big, black dog with shaggy fur and intelligent eyes. He makes no move when the two children’s eyes land on him, but Draco thinks he sees his tail twitch.

“Rex is back,” Draco comments, half to himself, and he hears Ada grunt in agreement. No one knew where the dog - they called him Rex - came from, but he never let anyone near him and he was always just watching. Draco doesn’t remember a time when he didn’t know Rex. The dog always seemed to be in his periphery in his memories, standing and watching from a reasonable distance.

“Do you think it’s spying on us?” Ada questions and Draco scoffs, giving her an unimpressed look. She glances over and immediately looks defensive at his expression. “What? What else could it be?”

“It’s a dog. Don’t be ridiculous. It can’t spy on anyone.”

“Well, what if he’s a… a supernatural dog? Like from a comic book or something.”

“That kind of stuff doesn’t exist,” Draco rolls his eyes and finally stands up, brushing dirt off his trousers. They were from a charity shop a few blocks away and were incredibly soft, if a bit raggedy.

Ada makes a weird, ugly noise in disbelief, crossing her arms. “Really? You’re actually saying it can’t happen? YOU? Freddie’s skin was technicolor a few minutes ago, or don’t you remember?”

Draco didn’t reply, just held his nose high and walked swiftly past his foster sister, ignoring her. He dare not respond to that, it would only end in frustration. He couldn’t explain all the things that happened to him. He couldn’t say why Frederick’s skin changed color, or how the neighbor’s cat suddenly had no fur when it wouldn’t leave the gardens alone, or how his Math textbooks were suddenly in Russian after a failed test. That didn’t mean it was supernatural…

Calling it supernatural, or paranormal, or magical felt too easy. Like he was giving up. Like he couldn’t come up with a proper explanation, and Ada didn’t understand that. No one really understood what Draco felt on the whole ordeal.

No one but the one other person who experienced the same thing.

.oOo.

“Pink skin, you say?” Hermione repeats, frantically flipping through a book on anatomy and skin diseases, all kinds of other books scattered around the table. Draco has no idea where she digs up most of what she finds when they visit the library, but he has learned never to ask too many questions.

“Bubblegum pink,” he replies absently, used to this by now.

He had met Hermione Granger many years ago entirely by chance. They did not live in the same neighborhood, but they did live close enough. Close enough that on a walk home from school Draco had been surprised when a shoe fell squarely on his head.

“I am so very sorry!” a girl with the biggest hair Draco had ever seen had said from where she hung in a tree beside the sidewalk. “But could you please help me?”

She had evidently been running from a group of girls being cruel about her hair and teeth and had suddenly found herself up a tree, clinging desperately to the branches, unsure how to get down. Draco had been too shocked to make any smart comments and had helped her down as best he could.

As it turned out the girl had a very similar problem to Draco. Strange things happened to her that she could never explain. Strange things like what happened to Draco.

It seemed inevitable that they would connect. They would meet on their walks home from school at first, but then Hermione’s parents began calling the Nubble’s landline asking if Draco could come by and visit. It all felt very normal for such an un-normal relationship, bonding over bizarre events that had no obvious explanations.

At least they both enjoyed reading and learning, otherwise Draco doubts he could have handled the girl. She was… fine. She just was remarkably pushy. And obnoxious. And loud. And bossy. And just about everything that made Draco grind his teeth. But she was nice, and understood what Draco was going through, and they both loved the library like a second home.

He supposes he could call her his best friend. She was his ONLY friend, really, so by proxy she had to be his best friend. But he supposes he could do a lot worse.

“I have never had something like that happen to me,” Hermione says, flicking through another book, this one on animals that changed colors.

“Another stand alone,” Draco sighs. “Stand alone’s,” were events that were entirely unique and didn’t happen to the other. Thus far all of the events had been stand alone’s…

Hermione smacks closed the book she’s looking in with an unhappy frown and sets it to the side, grabbing another from the pile. Draco can’t tell what the title is because the girl sets it down on the table and begins pouring over it immediately, furiously looking for an explanation they never find.

It was common to find the two of them at the public library, especially after an event, pouring over books and whispering to each other like conspirators. Before, they tried to check out books and take them home, but then Draco had learned Hermione had a restriction on just how many books she was allowed to take with her. He thought her embarrassed blush was hilarious and hardly cared he was never given a proper explanation as to why this was the case.

Hermione isn’t saying anything more, Draco notes, engrossed in the current book, so he picks up a find from his own pile. He enjoyed researching too, but not nearly as much as Hermione, so it was no surprise some other genres had found their way into his selection. He enjoyed academics, but he was also a fan of fantasy and adventure. He liked escaping for a little bit into a world of myth and mystery, imagining himself as some unsuspecting hero on a journey seemingly too big for himself.

Now, however, he was thinking of something else…

“What if this is all supernatural?” he whispers, eying the copy of _The Hobbit_ in his hand. Hermione doesn’t look up at him, too preoccupied and having obviously not heard him. “I said,” Draco begins again, louder, frustrated and pouting already, “what if it’s supernatural?” This time the bushy-haired girl looks up, brows moving up, before an equally frustrated look graces her features.

“Oh, now don’t be ridiculous. We’ve already been over this,” she huffs haughtily before looking back at her book, trying to say that she was quite done with this line of conversation, but Draco wasn’t, and he was never a fan of being ignored.

“Why is it ridiculous? Why can’t it be supernatural?” It was true. They had talked about such a thing before, near the beginning, and had both decided it seemed too flimsy an excuse. Like a cop out. But after Draco’s conversation with Ada the night before the idea was bouncing around in his head again, demanding attention.

“Because it simply cannot,” Hermione says as if she is always right, and she often is, but Draco refuses to give her the satisfaction of admitting such a thing.

“But why not? You aren’t giving me a reason here, Granger,” Draco scowls. Whenever he got particularly heated or frustrated he tended to use people’s last names while addressing them. It was a curious habit he picked up from Mrs Nubble, a lawyer that only called her clients by their last names.

“We cannot prove if something is supernatural. There is no way to document or test such a claim. Really, Draco, you should know better,” Hermione finally leans away from her book and crosses her arms, looking like an angry poodle.

“So? Maybe we can’t explain it yet, but it could very well be possible. ‘Magic is just science that we don’t understand yet.’ Arthur C Clarke.”

“Magic? I thought we were saying supernatural,” Hermione responds unhelpfully, smirking around her buck teeth when it makes Draco fume.

“The quote says magic and you are being purposefully obtuse, aren’t you? All I’m saying is we may just not be at a point to understand what is going on.”

“You could have said ‘The supernatural is only the natural of which the laws are not yet understood,’ _The Hound of Death_ by Agatha Christie, 1933.”

Draco stares at Hermione for a long, quiet moment, his eyes thinning suspiciously. “Do you just know everything or something?” he demands, pointing his finger at the girl.

“Yes,” she says immediately then leans back forward towards her book, “Which is how I know that this simply cannot be supernatural, or magical, in nature.”

Feeling equal parts impressed and agitated at Hermione’s turn of the conversation Draco groans but says nothing more. It was useless with this girl.

Instead he picks up a science fiction book he had dug up with a cheesy spaceship on its cover and begins to read, definitely not pouting and definitely not turning the pages louder than was entirely necessary.

.oOo.

It happened on a seemingly random day in July during breakfast.

Mr Nubble had made everyone pancakes, a rare treat, and the kids had dug into them the second they had set the table and everyone had been given a plate. Despite Frederick being the favorite, most well-behaved child, it was Draco who had the best table manners. Ada had said he looked posh, so Draco had said she looked barbaric.

As they ate and Mrs Nubble hustled around gathering her paperwork and supplies for work, Mr Nubble listed out their chores for the day. Frederick was to gather up and do the laundry through the day while cleaning the bathrooms in his free time. Ada needed to vacuum every floor in the house and mow the yard. Draco was to tend the garden, as usual, and help Mr Nubble organize, clean, and prep the kitchen. Frederick and Ada gave Draco sympathetic looks, for Mr Nubble was a very demanding man and would most likely be nit picking Draco every step of the way.

More chores for the afternoon would be given later and Draco was already plotting ways to lessen his burden with bribes or trickery when Mrs Nubble reappeared in the kitchen with the mail in hand.

Most everything was bills. They didn’t get magazines, the Nubble’s hated most pop culture, and not many people needed to stay in contact with any of them that couldn’t call on the landline. Ada did have a pen pal from the States, and Mrs. Nubble set said letter to the side as she flipped through everything.

The Nubble’s were not bad people. They took care of their foster children, gave them everything they needed, and did care for them. They all got a present on their birthdays and on Christmas they each got two. The chores and rules could be stifling, but nothing was ever cruel.

Draco didn’t like how they handled the mail, however. Whenever something came in for one of the kids they felt they had to read it first. Nothing was kept a secret, it was all done where said child could see, and they claimed it was a safety precaution, but it all felt very inappropriate to Draco. It wasn’t their mail, so they shouldn’t read it.

“Protective,” is what Frederick called it. “Controlling,” is what Ada called it.

Of course, Draco had little experience with it. He never got any mail. No pen pals like Ada or university letters like Frederick. Draco got nothing.

Except Mrs Nubble had frozen on one of the letters and her sharp, dark eyes kept looking between said letter and Draco, brows slowly furrowing deeper and deeper.

“What is it, dear?” Mr Nubble questions, noting his wife’s mounting confusion. The question draws all of the kids’ attentions and Mrs Nubble shakes her head and looks entirely at the letter.

“Draco has got a letter,” she says, voice level and controlled as she then sets down the rest of the mail and begins examining the envelope.

“What?” Draco immediately leaps out of his chair in surprise, silver eyes widening. From here he can see the letter has a purple wax seal and when Mrs Nubble turns the envelop around he sees writing on the front.

_Mr. D. Malfoy_

_Double Bedroom on the Ground Floor_

_64 East Watershed Lane_

_Happers Jump_

_London_

Wait, what? How did they know where he slept?

“Looks official,” Frederick notes as Mrs Nubble breaks the seal and Draco is leaning across the table making grabby hands at the letter.

“Let me read it!” he whines desperately but Mrs Nubble is already shushing him and giving him a hard, warning look.

“Sit back down, Draco, you know better,” Mr Nubble says, making a motion with his hand at the abandoned chair behind the pale boy, but he isn’t having any of this. He has never gotten mail before and he wants to see it.

“Let me see it!”

“You know the rules,” Mrs Nubble immediately snaps, voice rising, and Draco is quick to sit down this time. No matter how much he could whine and complain, how angry and pouty he could get, when his foster mother gave a demand he followed it. She was a terrifying woman. Good, but terrifying. “You may read it once I make sure it is both reliable and appropriate,” she says then turns back to the letter.

Almost immediately her brows are raising in surprise, eyes widening, before thinning dangerously. All three kids are leaning forward in their seats, eager to know what it says, and they startle when Mrs Nubble promptly crumbles it up and makes a disgusted sound. “Honestly, the _nerve_ of some people, trying to take advantage of a child!” she says, seeming to be speaking to herself. She tosses the crumbled-up letter into the bin then turns to Draco with a very apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, Draco, it’s nothing you need to worry about. Just someone making up nonsense, probably hoping to steal money.”

“It looked so official, though!” Draco replies, remembering Frederick’s comment, and he stands and moves towards the bin, hoping to pull out the crumpled letter and examine it for himself. Mr Nubble’s strong hand on his shoulder stops him, however, and he looks back at him pleadingly. He’s never gotten mail before…

“People can make anything look official if they work at it enough. I should know,” Mrs Nubble, a lawyer, and a very good one, says. She was trying to be gentle, which Draco supposes is nice of her, but he wants to see that letter.

“Just let me see it myself! What’s the harm?” he says petulantly. He knows he’s getting stared at by his foster siblings but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all. With his fists clenched tight at his sides he stomps his foot and glares up at his foster mother. It’s an immature thing to do, but he doesn’t care about that either.

Mrs Nubble’s gentle expression drops, however, and Draco quickly sees his mistake. She turns her sharp eyes to Frederick, her favorite, and says, “Take out the trash. I will have no one rummaging through filth against my orders.” Frederick gets up immediately to do as he’s told, ever the obedient child. “Draco. Ada,” both children stiffen and Mrs Nubble takes a deep breath, “Get to your chores.”

And that’s that.

Mrs Nubble walks calmly away, heading out to work, and Mr Nubble sets about cleaning the table. Draco is so busy staring forlornly after the trash bag currently flung over Frederick’s shoulder he doesn’t notice Ada sliding in beside him until she’s laying a hand on his shoulder, much gentler than Mr Nubble. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Parental Unit 1 is probably right. Just some jerk trying to mooch off you or something.”

Draco has a lot to say to that. A lot he wants to say about everything. Namely he would prefer to be screaming it. None of it will help, though, so he decides to focus on something unimportant to maybe distract himself. “’Parental Unit 1’? What happened to Substitute Mom?”

Ada shrugs with one shoulder. “What? I can’t mix things up every now and again?”

Draco rolls his eyes at her and she elbows him in the ribs, smirking. They don’t immediately get to their chores like their supposed to. Instead they end up standing there in silence for a long while, staring at nothing. Eventually Frederick returns and instead of telling them off for not getting to work yet, he stands with them, arms crossed.

“I’ve never gotten mail before,” Draco whispers eventually, his voice small and sad. Ada puts her hand back on his shoulder, comforting, while Frederick sighs and reaches out, gripping the opposite shoulder and squeezing.

For a while they are silent again and it is these moments that get the closest to feeling like family to Draco. These connecting, understanding moments they share holding each other up because no one else will. They are far and few between, but they keep them all afloat and Draco isn’t sure how he could ever manage without his foster siblings.

But then Frederick is patting his shoulder and stepping away, looking equal parts serious and apologetic. “Let’s get to work, then, shall we?”

Draco sighs and does just that, because what else can he do?

.oOo.

The letters don’t stop.

Every morning there is a yellowish envelop in the mail with a purple seal and green writing. Each time Mrs Nubble reads over it and each time she gets angrier and angrier before she trashes it. The most recent one she actually threw in the blender, despite Mr Nubble’s protests, then immediately apologized for her behavior and got all the kids candy bars when she came home from work.

It was Sunday, when they weren’t even supposed to get mail, that Mrs Nubble finally had quite enough when the lone envelope appeared at the front door. She snatched it up and began writing a reply letter.

“They had return addresses?” Mr Nubble questions, the entire lot of them sitting at the kitchen table, breakfast long forgotten as Mrs Nubble writes.

“No, further reason to believe this a scam, but perhaps the post office will know what I mean. I am afraid I don’t know what else I could do,” she replies, pen scratching against stationary with swift, quick movements.

Ada, who is sitting beside her today, leans forward to take a look at the letter, namely to get Draco to stop jabbing her to do just that. “What’s a ‘Hogwarts’?” she questions.

“Sounds like some kind of disease,” Frederick says, brows furrowed in thought, and Mrs Nubble gives the table at large a withering look. The letter is finished not long after that and they all, Mr Nubble included, follow her to the front door and watch from the porch as she makes her way to the mailbox. This whole debacle had become the highlight of their mornings, after all, they didn’t want to miss anything.

And they are certainly glad they followed as they all watch, with varying degrees of alarm and humor, as a tawny owl swoops out of nowhere and snatches the letter from Mrs Nubble’s hand. The poor woman shrieks in alarm, but appears unharmed, and the owl is flying into the distance as she hurries back into the house.

Mrs Nubble doesn’t write another letter, too frightened to do much of anything else that day, and instead joins the rest of the house’s residents on their chores, attempting to get her mind away from the events.

Draco doesn’t know how to take any of it. Not only was someone sending him letters on the regular, but he hadn’t been able to read a single one, and his anger was mounting. He kept catching himself glaring at his foster parents whenever he could, furious with them no matter how much they thought they were doing the right thing. The right thing sucked, and he wanted his letters already.

He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t enjoy watching Mrs Nubble get scared by that owl, he just really wished he could talk to Hermione about it. This whole thing was beginning to feel like one of their events, but she had been unavailable for the last few days, apparently doing research on some boarding school she’d been accepted into. Draco hadn’t even known she’d been applying and he tried not to feel hurt.

As lunch came and went Draco found himself in the garden again. Muddy wasn’t around, but Shadow came to say hello, his middle bulging with a mystery meal, and Snowflake let Draco scratch his head as he watered the plants.

“I just… want to know what they say, you know,” Draco was saying. He wore a big sunhat on his head, given to him from Mr Nubble, to protect his pale skin from the sun, and too-large gardening gloves covered his hands. “I don’t have to respond to them or anything. I can just read them then throw them away. Is that too much to ask?”

Snowflake slithers over his shoes, tongue flicking, almost like a comfort, and Draco smiles down at him. “Don’t tell the others,” he stage whispers down at the little, white snake, “but you’re my favorite.”

“Pardon me.”

Draco nearly jumps out of his skin at the voice and spins around, knocking away Snowflake and making both he and Shadow slither away unhappily. Standing just on the outside of the garden is an elderly, severe-looking woman with square glasses and wearing… an emerald cloak? What a strange outfit, Draco has a moment to muse, before he remembers there is a stranger standing there, speaking to him, and he really has no idea what to do. Should he say something? He’s really not supposed to speak to strangers.

“Uh… hullo,” Draco says quietly and after a beat the woman’s thin lips turn up in a very small, very gentle smile.

“Hello,” she greets with a small downturn of her head. She was wearing a big, pointy hat as well, which was even more strange than her cloak. “You must be Draco Malfoy. I received your foster mother’s owl concerning the nature of Hogwarts, schoo--”

“Hogwarts, like the disease?” Draco interrupts and immediately feels like he could smack himself. Really? That’s where he went? He couldn’t ask how the woman knew his name? No, he had to ask whether Frederick’s comment was true.

The smile on the woman’s face vanishes and Draco shrinks back from the fierce expression. He had absolutely no idea who this woman was, but he knew he should not get on her bad side. “While I cannot speak for the nature of any Muggle diseases,” Draco had no idea what a Muggle was, “The Hogwarts I speak of is a school. A school for Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Draco’s brain takes that moment to just… stop. Just stops right there. All questions and ideas and theories go out the window because, excuse me? What? Witchcraft and Wizardry? What exactly was this woman on about? She didn’t seem crazy, but she must be, because WHAT?

The woman seems unaware of Draco’s short circuit, however, as she continues in a very commanding voice that would put Mrs Nubble to shame. “My name is Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts under Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. It has come to our attention the Muggles you live with have questions that need addressing concerning Hogwarts.” The gentle smile returns but Draco is in too much of a shock to properly appreciate it. “I must offer my apologies for not reaching out sooner. It is common for us to offer assistance to muggleborn students, but I am afraid your situation is quite unique.”

Draco’s mind was reeling. Muggles? Muggleborns? Witchcraft? Wizardry? School? Okay, well, he knew what that last one was, but a school for… for… magic? He suddenly remembers his conversation with Hermione not too long ago on the subject, but… this was not at all what he had in mind.

He realizes McGonagall - that had been her name, right? - is silently waiting for him to say something, so he goes with the first thing that comes to mind. “What are you on, lady?” Perhaps not the most respectful tone to take with an elder, but the woman doesn’t seem to mind all that much. Her smile actually turns a little sad.

“I can assure you, I am ‘on’ nothing. What I am attempting to say, however… Is that you are a wizard, Draco.”

There’s a silence over the garden, over the yard, over the street. Snowflake has returned and is slithering around his feet, but he goes unnoticed.

Finally, Draco manages to build up enough awareness to open up his mouth and shriek, “I’m a _WHAT_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly a what if idea I had. It changes SO MUCH in the story, I realized, I had to write it out and get it out of my brain! Hopefully y'all like it!


	2. Definitely Magic

Draco sat in his living room sofa, packed between Mr and Mrs Nubble as they stared down the seemingly crazy woman in the opposite recliner. He was aware of Ada and Frederick hiding somewhere around the corner in the hall, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too wrapped up in his own head to care about anything but himself.

“Let me get this straight, Miss--”

“Professor,” the stern, elder woman corrects. McGonagall, Draco’s mind supplies as an afterthought, even though he has a hard time seeing her as anything but “crazy, stern lady.”

Mrs Nubble narrows her eyes, but thankfully her husband takes over the talking. He was always more of a people person. “Professor McGonagall. Hogwarts…” he pauses to make sure he got the name right, but Draco doubts he actually forgot, “Is a real school. A boarding school. For witches.”

McGonagall nods once, her expression no longer too frightening, but still very strict and controlled. Draco wonders if that’s what Mrs Nubble will look like when she gets old. “And wizards,” she adds on.

“Which Draco is one of?” Mr Nubble questions, a hand laying on the blonde’s small shoulder. Usually Draco would brush him off, but he’s too preoccupied to care.

“That he is,” McGonagall agrees and her eyes fall on Draco, making him straighten up in surprise, her stare intense. After a few beats she does at least offer a small smile, and it lets the boy breathe a little easier, before she looks between his foster parents once more. “And you are what we call Muggles in the wizarding world. This is a term for those individuals who do not possess magical abilities.”

“Muggles?” Draco repeats, testing out the word on his mouth. It sounded rather silly, like a made-up word no one thought twice to question, but the woman said it with so much confidence he had little choice to believe its validity.

Mrs Nubble held no such feeling, however.

“And you expect us to believe this insanity?” she demands, arms crossed and steady glare in place. She and McGonagall meet eyes and for a long, tense silence they simply look at each other, testing each other, and Draco and Mr Nubble scoot an inch away.

“Why not?” someone calls and Draco cringes. Mrs Nubble throws her head towards the hall and scowls.

“Ada. Frederick too, I suspect. Go to your rooms, this doesn’t concern either of you.”

“Why can’t it be true?” Ada continues, finally poking her head out, ignoring the demand as she enters fully. Frederick is gripping her arm and trying desperately to pull her away, looking ashamed at being caught. “I mean, yeah it’s insane, but think of all the insane, unexplainable stuff that happens to Draco? Seems rather…” Ada locks eyes with the blonde and smirks knowingly, “supernatural?”

A flush drops over Draco’s face at the realization. Oh my gosh, the answer to everything really HAD been magic. It wasn’t just a cop out, it was real.

“Thank you, Miss…” McGonagall began and paused to allow Ada to fill in the blank.

“I’m Ada Babbage. This here is Frederick King,” she introduces herself and Frederick stops his silent panicking to bow his head politely to the elder woman.

“Thank you, Miss Babbage. I suspect these incidents are impossible to explain using Muggle means, yes?” now she was looking at Draco and the boy startled.

“Yes…” he says, realizing this is the first real thing he’s said since he sat down in this room, too stunned to speak, and usually he was eager to get a word in.

“This is normal,” McGonagall assures, leaning back in the chair and folding her hands in her lap. “Magic is raw and powerful. When one is young it is normal for it to escape in unexpected ways, usually in moments of intense emotion. This is why schooling is so important. It allows a young witch or wizard an opportunity to control this magic and make it their own.”

“Hermione Granger,” Draco says suddenly, eyes widening as realization dawns on him. It must seem very out of nowhere to everyone else in the room.

“I beg your pardon?” McGonagall asks, her own stern expression taking on a small tinge of confusion.

“Hermione Granger,” he says more confidently, looking up at the woman, doing his best to meet her eyes. “She has mysterious things happen to her too, things we could never explain, and I recently learned she was preparing to go to a new boarding school. That was you all, wasn’t it?” He jabs a finger at the woman and Mr Nubble swats at him to not be rude, so he quickly pulls his hand back to his lap.

McGonagall’s brows have risen, the wrinkles on her face more prominent as they scrunch up, but then she’s offering that tiny, slightly reassuring smile and Draco releases a held breath. “You are quite clever. I wonder if you will be a Ravenclaw with that wit.” Draco had no idea what a Ravenclaw was. “Yes, Miss Granger is a witch. A muggleborn, specifically. Professor Flitwick, Hogwarts’s Charms teacher, assisted her and her family not too long ago, if I am remembering correctly.”

Hermione was a witch. She was magical just like he was. It made so much sense, yet so little as well. How had no one ever heard of this? How was this such a massive secret to the rest of the world? McGonagall had said the “wizarding world,” which insinuated it had to be big, but somehow it had remained a complete secret.

There was a lot there Draco wanted to unpack, but he needed to pick his battles wisely, and he doubted he had enough information yet to tackle that.

“You used that term before,” Mr Nubble spoke up again, leaning forward slightly, brows furrowed. He looked much more curious now and hardly batted an eye when Ada came and sat on the arm of the sofa beside him. “Muggleborn.”

“A term for a witch or wizard born to Muggle parents. There are also half-bloods for those with one wizarding parent and another Muggle or muggleborn parent, and purebloods,” McGonagall’s eyes fall now on Draco, expression severe, and he straightens up even further, “like you.”

No one says a word. The room falls so silent and still Draco thinks he can hear the dust shifting under the couch. He can feel his foster parents stiffening at his sides, Ada has turned to stare at him, and Frederick is staring at the elder witch.

“Did…” Draco begins but his voice breaks and he has to start again. “Did you know my parents?” He felt suddenly very nauseous, but he wasn’t sure exactly why. If this woman knew his parents, shouldn’t he be excited? He could finally get answers he had always wanted. He could finally KNOW.

McGonagall’s expression didn’t change at first, but her lips did thin. She looked particularly unhappy and Draco wondered if he had said the wrong thing. “How much do you know of your past?” she questions instead of answering and it makes the young boy angry. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

But then Mrs Nubble was standing, silencing him before he could make any rude comments, and swiftly walked towards the office. A moment later and she was back, hardly gone for long, and handing over a folded sheet of paper to McGonagall. “He arrived on our doorstep the 23rd of June, 1980 with only that note. This is all we know,” she said, a tightness to her voice she always got when talking about these things.

She takes her seat beside Draco once more as McGonagall reads the note that says, _“My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy. I was born June 5th of this year. I need a home. Please help.”_ Her expression was now carefully held together, stern and cold, and they all waited with bated breath for her to speak.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, McGonagall sets the note onto the coffee table and shuts her eyes, composing herself despite not seeming to have lost any composure to begin with.

“So…” it is Frederick who speaks this time, surprising everyone, and McGonagall opens her eyes to look at him, “Did you know them? Draco’s parents?”

The witch is silent for another long beat before she looks to Draco. “I taught them, actually,” she says and Draco sucks in a sharp breath. “I teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts and they were some of my students. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes drop to his knees and he feels a heat behind them he dares not release. Out of all that the biggest thing he clung to was that his father’s name was his middle. Like he was carrying a piece of him with him.

“What happened to them?” Ada whispers and Mr Nubble hushes her, but no one else seems too bothered by the question. Draco looks up at McGonagall and his heart drops at her expression.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” he whispers before she can answer and he shakes his head, looking away again. “I always knew, deep down…”

“They are,” McGonagall says at length, her clasped hands squeezing tighter. “I wish I could say I knew them well. They were… much braver than I gave them credit for.”

“Braver…?” Draco repeats, eyes trained once more on the elder witch. Why would they be braver? It seemed like an odd thing to say. Weren’t most deaths accidents? That was what Draco had assumed.

McGonagall stares hard at Draco, then glances around at their audience. She had everyone’s attention, as she had the second she appeared at 64 East Watershed Lane. “I am going to be very straightforward with you, Mr Malfoy,” she begins and Draco nods. He thinks he’d prefer straightforward anyway. He didn’t want any beating around the bush or unnecessary, soft words. He just wanted to know.

“There was a dark, evil wizard. Most everyone refers to him as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”

“Mouthful…” Ada mumbles and Draco has to agree with her, but she is ultimately ignored save for a scathing glance from McGonagall.

“His true name… is Voldemort.” She says it with such severity, such intensity, that Draco feels like he is supposed to feel something about it, but he doesn’t. It just sounds like another made up word, like Muggle. “He had followers known as DeathEaters,” she continues and, okay, that at least sounded a bit more threatening, “And your parents were part of them.”

Draco’s silver eyes widen in shock, leaning away from the witch. “I thought you just said this was an evil man. How could my parents have worked for him?” he demands, dread pooling in his gut. He had always had a lot of feelings towards his absent parents, but he had never considered they could have been bad people.

“Fear, perhaps. Old standing pureblood beliefs, I always suspected, however…” McGonagall holds up a hand before Draco can interrupt her with more comments, her eyes demanding his attention. “They proved they were not like You-Know-Who. They proved that when they had you and fled. The way I understood it was that they wanted to get you, Draco Malfoy, away from that evil man,” she shakes her head and releases another, heavy sigh, now looking out the window to the backyard. “But he caught up to them.”

“And he killed them,” Draco finishes for her, seeing where this was going, and he feels Mr Nubble’s hand on his shoulder again. “Didn’t he?”

“Yes. He did,” McGonagall nods, then turns slightly more interested eyes on the blonde, “But not you. No one knows how, but you survived his killing spell, and in doing so destroyed him instead. I suspect you have a scar from the encounter?”

Blinking a few times before realization dawns, Draco reaches to the buttons on his well-worn, blue polo, undoes them, and pulls down the collar. He always thought the blossoming lightning scar on his chest was cool. It looked kind of like an explosion, the markings slightly darker and indented on his pale skin. To think he had got it from some kind of spell meant to kill him. A spell that had killed his parents…

“That is where it hit, then,” McGonagall says, half to herself, and Draco readjusts his shirt in silence. “You are a hero in the wizarding world,” she says and so overwhelmed with everything Draco doesn’t think to cover up his scoff.

“For what? Doing something before I was even a month old? Something I sure don’t remember,” he retorts, frustration bubbling up in his gut. Sure, he was getting answers for his questions, but this… This was so much more complicated than he ever wanted his life to be.

“I never claimed to agree with every detail of the wizarding world. I doubt fame at such a young age could do anyone any good,” McGonagall replies, obviously not impressed by Draco’s outburst, but being patient with him.

Ada snorts suddenly, sounding much more good-natured than Draco. “Yeah, no kidding! I mean, seriously, with his ego? We’ll never survive,” she comments, and Draco knows she’s trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t help much.

“Well, you may have to get used to it,” McGonagall sighs, looking between Mr and Mrs Nubble, “If he is to join us at Hogwarts this term.” She’s asking his foster parents, Draco realizes after a few beats of silence. So wrapped up in finding out about his past and his parents he had completely forgotten this was the original purpose of this visit.

“Proof,” Mrs Nubble suddenly says and they all look to her. “This is a lot of information, very detailed and impressive, but I would like to see physical proof of your magic.” It’s a demand that leaves little room for argument, her tone hard and unforgiving. Draco half expects a fight with how the two women are matching each other’s stares.

But then McGonagall says, “Of course,” and pulls a long stick from her sleeve. It would have seemed to have appeared out of nowhere if Draco hadn’t been paying close attention. She then points the tip of the stick at a vacant recliner, says something that sounds like gibberish, and the chair is suddenly an ostrich. Another flick of the stick and it’s back to being a chair.

McGonagall calmly stashes her stick away and turns back to Mrs Nubble. Everyone is staring in utter silence now, shock permeating around the room like a physical entity. “Will that suffice?” the witch questions and Mrs Nubble swallows.

“Quite,” she whispers before hurrying off once more. If Draco didn’t know any better he would think his foster mother was fleeing, but he did know better, and not a moment later she reappeared with Draco’s letter in her hand. It had to be the most recent letter since all the others would be in the trash. Already she had composed herself, while everyone else was still in a state of shock at witnessing something that should just not be possible.

Sitting back down Mrs Nubble takes a deep breath and turns to Draco, holding the letter tightly. “I don’t like this,” she begins, because of course she doesn’t, “but it is quite clear these were never a scam, and I apologize.” Draco’s brows rise in disbelief and judging by the way Mrs Nubble looks over his shoulder and frowns the others are also wearing matching expressions. “Just because I do not need to apologize often does not mean I am incapable of it,” she says, a warning in her tone, and Draco thins his lips to keep from making a comment.

Shaking her head in unhappy disbelief Mrs Nubble focuses once more on Draco and she slowly stretches out her hand and the letter in it. “This is yours, Draco. Read over it and think carefully about what you want to do.”

The blonde’s eyes widen and he hardly thinks twice before he is snatching the letter from her hands, ignoring her displeased grunt at his behavior. He quickly takes out the parchment he had so enviously stared after for the last week and begins to read.

_**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY** _

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Draco lowers the letter when he’s done with it and hardly even bats an eye when Ada makes grabby hands at him and he passes it to her.

It was only just now beginning to set in that he was a wizard. He was magic, and there was a school out there for people like him. A school that wanted him to come and learn all about all of this. And Hermione, his only friend, would be there too. How on earth could he possibly not want to go?

“This sounds wicked,” Ada says and Draco looks over. Frederick is reading over her shoulder, looking stunned and amazed. “What’re you going to do though, Draco?”

He stared at the girl for a long moment, pretending to think about it. He already knew his answer.

He looked over to McGonagall with an excited, determined light in his silver eyes. “I want to go. What do I need to do?”

.oOo.

As it turned out, not much. Really he just needed to wait.

McGonagall wrote out his acceptance letter for him, letting him sign it, and sent it off to this Dumbledore person by way of owl, which Mrs Nubble immediately jumped away from. She then informed them that the next step would be retrieving school supplies, which could be done at a place called Diagon Alley. None of them had ever heard of it, which McGonagall said was normal, and that if they liked she could return the following day to bring them there.

Issue was the following day was Monday and Mrs Nubble had work, which she never missed, and Mr Nubble would need to supervise Ada and Frederick. After some back and forth negotiating it was decided McGonagall would just need to look after Draco herself.

Mr Nubble seemed fine with this set up, and in general so did Mrs Nubble, but that evening Draco’s foster mother sat him down and gave him a long lecture on stranger danger, told him he could always trust the police, and even let him borrow her Nokia Cityman 100, which he was to store in his backpack in case of emergencies.

On Monday he woke up earlier than anyone else and rushed out to the front garden, weeding it and tending to the plants while talking quickly to the snakes. He had all three of their attentions today, which he thought was nice, with Shadow staring at him, Snowflake slithering around his trainers, and Muddy demanding head scratches.

It was as he was getting up to head back inside that he spotted Rex across the street, watching like he always did. Draco arched a brow at the mean-looking dog before scowling over at it.

“You know I learned about magic and stuff yesterday, so if Ada was right and you ARE a supernatural, spy dog, you could let me know, now,” he calls, crossing his arms and waiting expectantly for a response of some kind. Instead the dog just keeps staring at him and Draco has a very odd feeling he is being laughed at, either by the dog or the universe as a whole. Eventually he just scoffs and stomps back into the house, grumbling about dumb, normal dogs.

Not long after that breakfast is ready and everyone is sitting excitedly around the table. Ada demanded Draco bring her back something cool and slipped him a few pounds while Frederick offered to let him borrow his camera to take pictures. Draco turned down the camera, but he did take the few pounds. The Nubbles had given him some money as well. They weren’t sure of the general price of things, but they assumed they could always return to purchase any remaining supplies if necessary.

Draco was given a short list of chores to do before he could leave, which he managed to convince Ada to do so long as he got her at least two souvenirs instead of one, and then he was pacing around by the front door, waiting for McGonagall to arrive, backpack over his shoulders and ready to go. He wasn’t exactly sure when she would get there, only that it would be some time in the morning.

He didn’t have to wait long, however, as a knock came from the door and he rushed to answer it, flinging it open so hard the knob banged the wall loudly.

“Draco!” Mr. Nubble called from one room over, not at all pleased by the commotion, while McGonagall looked down at the blond boy with an arched brow.

“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy,” she greeted in way of making any comments on his behavior. Her expression was enough to do that. She glances up and behind the boy and nods. “Mr. Nubble.”

Draco’s foster father comes up beside him, extending his hand to shake McGonagall’s in greeting. “Good morning, Professor McGonagall.”

“Yes, yes, good morning everyone. Can we go now?” Draco grins brightly up at the elder witch, eager to go already. There was so much he wanted to see. So much he wanted to learn. He could hardly wait any longer. The warning looks he got from both McGonagall and Mr. Nubble silenced him, however.

“In a moment. First I needed to remind your family of a few things,” the woman said. Draco bit his tongue to keep from snapping that they weren’t his family, a bad habit he still hadn’t managed to shake over the years. “Thanks to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy the Wizarding World has remained a secret for centuries,” she says to Mr. Nubble. Her voice is slightly raised, however, which probably means she knows Ada and Frederick are listening in somewhere. “I must firmly request you not tell anyone about us. It is for everyone’s safety that our secret continues.”

Draco looked up at McGonagall thoughtfully. So they went out of their way to stay secret, that made sense, but it still didn’t explain how they did it. Or why.

“We won’t tell a soul,” Mr. Nubble nods, looking very serious. McGonagall nods back at him and then finally turns to Draco.

“That will be all, for now. Shall we be off?” Draco immediately perked up, questions momentarily forgotten.

“Oh! Can we get Hermione, too? She must need to get her things as well, right?” he asks. He and Hermione had never gone to the same school before, so it sounded rather exciting to go get his supplies with her. He wanted to talk to her about everything, anyway. They hadn’t had a chance, yet.

“Miss. Granger? I believe she has already gone with her parents and assistance from Professor Flitwick,” McGonagall says after a beat of consideration.

“Oh,” Draco deflates a little bit before quickly straightening up again. Not exactly what he had wanted to hear, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. He still was getting to go shopping for magic school supplies! He couldn’t be bummed out about that. “Alright, that’s fine! Let’s go!”

“Do you need me to phone you a cab?” Mr. Nubble asks, glancing out the open front door and seeing no waiting vehicle, but McGonagall is already shaking her head.

“No need. We will apparate to London from here,” she says, turning and shutting the front door behind her. She then offers her elbow to Draco and arches a brow. “Hold on tight and brace yourself,” she says and Draco does so, unsure what is going to happen. He had no idea what apparate meant. McGonagall nods at him approvingly then looks to Mr. Nubble. “I will have him back safely in time for dinner. Have a lovely day.”

And then they weren’t there anymore.

Draco felt compressed and squeezed, like being dragged through a tube of some sort, everything trying to fit into a significantly smaller space and pulling. And then, as quickly as it all had begun, he was suddenly back to normal and could breathe again. He released McGonagall’s arm and braced himself on his knees, wheezing and panting, only half noting the breeze on his skin.

“You did well,” the elder witch says calmly, a thin hand patting his shoulder until he can stand up straight and look around. They weren’t at his home anymore. Instead they were in the back of some alley, tall buildings hiding them on either side, and the sounds of crowds and traffic trickling in.

“What was _that?_ ” he questions, still quite breathless and weak-kneed.

“That was a form of magic transportation known as apparation,” she explains while Draco takes in the fact they really aren’t where they just were.

“Is… is apparation just… teleportation?” he questions, finally looking up at McGonagall with wide, amazed eyes.

“It is far more complicated than it appears, but… yes. It is fundamentally teleportation.”

“Wow,” Draco breathes, eyes shining. This was absolutely amazing. First the ostrich-chair and now teleportation. What all would HE be able to do, he wondered.

“Come along,” the witch suddenly sounded firm, hands clasped in front of her and shoulders straight, “Let us be off. We have a lot to get to today.” She was walking past Draco briskly and he scurries to catch up, startled by her abruptness.

“Sure, yes, of course. So… where do we go to get all of this?” Draco asks, pulling his Hogwarts letter out from his backpack and flipping to the supply list. “Do we go to the mall? I’ve never been. Mr. and Mrs. Nubble gave me some money but we aren’t sure how much everything will be.”

“I’m afraid that money won’t help you all that much,” McGonagall cuts in before Draco can ask much else. They are walking down a street labeled Charing Cross Road, passing by people - Muggles - that are giving McGonagall and her robes and hat odd looks. “I will explain when we are off the street, but you have nothing to worry about.”

After a beat Draco nods, deciding he can wait a little longer to get his answers. After all, they were supposed to be a secret, right? At least no one was stopping them to ask about McGonagall’s attire. Draco suspected that was partially because she looked far too stern to be approachable.

Not one minute later Draco is being stopped by a grip on his elbow and he looks up in surprise. They had just been passing a bookstore. Was this where they needed to be? It looked so normal though.

Oh, but no, McGonagall was leading him towards the building beside it. Draco hadn’t even noticed it at first, like it hadn’t even been there, and the witch opens the front door. “This is the Leaky Cauldron,” she says as she shoos Draco in, not in any mood to dilly dally. 

The blonde doesn’t know what to expect as he scurries inside, but he certainly expected it to appear more… magical. It looks like any other pub he’s seen on television, nothing too special, until he sees a man stirring his tea without touching it and a woman floating plates and cups over to multiple tables. Looking even closer he spots a young woman absently changing the color of a biscuit on her plate, apparently bored, and someone completely covered in lavender robes appearing seemingly out of nowhere, grab an offered drink, then disappearing once more.

“Whoa…” Draco whispers, thankful McGonagall isn’t rushing him through just yet, letting him absorb the place.

“Well I’ll be…” someone says off to Draco’s left and he glances over, wondering what could possibly have caught a wizard’s attention, but then he is staring straight into the eyes of one of the patrons, an elder man in sapphire robes. “You’re… Can’t be… But that hair. And you’re so pale…” He seemed to be talking half to himself but it was drawing other patrons’ attentions. “You’re Draco Malfoy, aren’t you?”

Very suddenly Draco was the most interesting thing in the room as wizards and witches approached him, speaking too quickly for him to follow, but he picked up a few tidbits. “Is it really him?” “White as a sheet all over, must be.” “How’d you do it?” “You must be so talented!” “We all owe you so much. Thank you, thank you!” “The-Boy-Who-Vanished finally appears.”

That last one had Draco furrowing his brows curiously, but mostly he just felt overwhelmed. Right, McGonagall had said he was famous, but this was… This was a bit much, even for him. He loved being the center attention, but usually it was with only a handful of people over something unimportant.

“Uh, yeah, no problem,” he manages, his hand being snatched up multiple times to be shaken. Some of the crowd coo’s along the lines of “Oh, so humble!” and “He’s shy, I think.” It is all very disconcerting and Draco feels nothing but gratitude when McGonagall swats at another, approaching hand and glares at the crowd.

“That is quite enough. Please, control yourselves and go about your day,” she says firmly and doesn’t wait for a response, instead laying a hand on Draco’s back and pushing him around the people and towards the back. The blonde breathes a sigh of relief as they step into a back room, brick walls on all sides.

“That was… something,” he decides, glancing up at the elder witch at his side. She sighs, sounding disappointed, but nods.

“I’m afraid that will probably happen often,” she warns. Right, Draco was famous, she’d said. He just hadn’t realized what, exactly, that would entail.

“Why did they call me ‘The-Boy-Who-Vanished’?” he asks as McGonagall begins to walk to the back of the room, eyes locked on the wall, but she pauses. For a while Draco isn’t sure he’ll get an answer and he’s gearing up to start stomping or yelling, but then the witch turns to him with a quiet expression.

“That is what many people use when referring to you. That and The-Boy-Who-Lived,” she explains. So… it was like his title? Or a nickname? It kind of reminded him of how they called that evil wizard “You-Know-Who,” or whatever it was. Wizards had interesting naming conventions…

“I guess I understand the second one,” he says slowly. After all, if he survived an attack that killed all others a title like The-Boy-Who-Lived seemed rather appropriate, but… “Why the other one? Why The-Boy-Who-Vanished?”

“Because that is what you did,” McGonagall replies, fully facing him now, her hands clasped in front of her. She was thankfully taking this very seriously. “After You-Know-Who fell, you seemingly disappeared. No one knew where you had gone. We only rediscovered you three years ago.”

“Three… years ago?” Draco repeats, his eyes wide. He’d vanished? But how? And who would have done that? They had obviously brought him to the Nubbles, but… why?

“We discovered someone had placed protective wards on the property of your foster home that grew more powerful with age. Talented, complex magic…” McGonagall has a tone to her voice like respect, impressed by whatever these wards apparently were, but Draco’s eyes were still wide and his body stiffening.

“Why didn’t anyone come to me sooner, then?” he demands, voice beginning to heighten.

“It was decided it was safer for you this way,” the witch explains, tone patient. She at least isn’t giving the boy a disapproving glare for his volume. “Away from the Wizarding World until it was time to begin schooling. Away from the attention and the politics. You were safer with your family--”

“FOSTER family,” Draco interrupts, grinding his teeth, and McGonagall pauses to just look at him.

“Safer with your foster family,” she corrects herself slowly, like she’s measuring Draco and how he may react, which he doesn’t think is very fair. He’s the one whose whole world is turning more and more upside down. No, not even upside down, that happened yesterday when he’d discovered he was a wizard. By now they have entered a new dimension.

“Did anyone think to consider how I might feel about that?” the pale boy demands, a fire in his chest he recognizes as panic and anxiety, which he carefully covers up with indignation.

“Yes,” McGonagall replies simply, which gives Draco pause, and she looks at him meaningfully. “I did, as did many others, but it was not my say that decided things.” Reaching out McGonagall lays one of her thin hands on the young wizard’s shoulder, squeezing just the slightest bit. She looks sad. “I am sorry. For everything that has happened to you and everything you have yet to discover.”

“It’s not fair,” Draco whispers, looking down. There’s no real energy to his voice. He feels like he’s been pulled in too many directions in just the last few minutes.

“It is not fair,” McGonagall agrees, gives his shoulder a final squeeze, then stands straight and composes herself, “But lingering on it will do us no good. Come. We will stop by Gringotts first.”

Draco takes a deep breath, trying his best to shove away all the stress these latest discoveries leave him in. Today is a good day. He is getting ready to go to school to learn _magic._ He will not allow himself to wallow.

“What’s Gringotts?” he asks as McGonagall pulls out her wand and faces the far, brick wall, his voice still a little too quiet. A little too strained.

“Gringotts Wizarding Bank, the second most secure magical location beside Hogwarts. One can exchange Muggle currency for wizarding there, although I do not believe you will need to,” she explains. Draco is fixing to ask why he would not need to do such a thing, considering all he has is Muggle money, when McGonagall taps the wall in a particular order. He misses the order, having not known to pay attention to it, but he probably would have forgotten anyway as he stares in awe as the bricks begin to move. Like a ripple they split, twisting and turning to open up like a doorway, revealing an entire street of buildings jam packed with people. Formerly silent, now they are surrounded with the sounds of bustling wizards and witches, hurrying about their day. There are colorful buildings and signs, vendors on the side selling all kinds of do-dads. Draco doesn’t entirely know where to look.

McGonagall is smiling faintly at him when he looks up at her, his jaw hanging open, eyes wide in amazement. “Magic,” he breathes, blown away by it all.

McGonagall hums in agreement before waving a finger at him. “Close your mouth, now, and let’s be off,” she says and begins to walk, the crowd splitting for her like butter, and Draco hurries to stay close behind so as not to be caught up and lost.

He sees a sweets shop, which he thinks would make a good place to get Ada her souvenirs, as well as book stores, clothing stores, and… was that store selling brooms? That was an odd thing to specialize in. Unless…

Draco gasped, imagining the images of cartoon witches all over the television on Halloween, riding broomsticks with their black cats. “Professor McGonagall!” he says breathlessly, “Do witches and wizards fly on broomsticks?”

“Of course,” McGonagall says with a nod, face forward as she walks but obviously still paying attention to Draco. “You should note, however, that your supply list says you may not own your own broom as a first year.” Draco doesn’t care, he doesn’t care at all, so long as one day he’ll be allowed to try out flying. He loves being up high, has a habit of climbing every tree or climb-able surface he can come across, much to his foster family and Hermione’s dismay.

With how swiftly McGonagall walked and how no one dared step in her way they made it to Gringotts quickly. It was a massive building made of marble, standing out elegantly from all the other stores around it, with beautiful pillars and tall, bronze doors. McGonagall gently nudges Draco inside said doors when he hesitates, too busy staring up at the building.

Inside it looked much like any fancy bank would, despite being just that much more elegant with magically moving weights and devices and… What on earth were those things behind the counters? Draco tries not to stare at the short, honestly ugly men with pointed noses and long, clawed fingers, but he can’t help it. They are definitely not human, he is pretty sure, but this is magic, right? Maybe some kind of spell turned them all into… whatever they are.

“Goblins,” McGonagall says after seeing his stares, her expression shut off as she looks around them at the many working goblins. “They run the wizarding economy. Very brilliant,” and that’s all she says about that as she then leads them to the far end of the room to the tallest counter.

A goblin that looks decidedly older than many of the others is sitting there, writing on some parchment with a quill of all things, and it takes everything in Draco not to question if they have ever heard of a pen. The goblin completely ignores them as they finally stop in front of him.

“We require access to the Malfoy family vault,” McGonagall says professionally, not waiting for any pleasantries. Draco doubts these goblins really DO pleasantries.

But then her words sink in and he looks up, startled. “Vault? I… My family has a vault?” he questions shakily, his palms beginning to sweat.

“Key?” the goblin demands and McGonagall twists her hand once and suddenly a key is in her palm.

“Here,” she says and the goblin finally looks up, examining the silver key without so much as blinking his black eyes, before grunting and sliding away from the counter. He doesn’t say a word, but McGonagall begins to follow after him and Draco scurries to keep up. “Yes, you have a vault,” the elder witch finally answers Draco as they walk through a side door and quite abruptly the beautiful marble and bronze on the entry hall morphs into a dark, stone tunnel lined with torches.

“The Malfoys are one of the oldest known wizarding families within our world. They have accumulated quite the fortune,” McGonagall glances down at Draco as he falls into step by her side, following the grumpy goblin that was apparently helping them. “And now it falls to you.”

Draco blinks up at her, flabbergasted at the thought of inheriting a fortune of any kind. They had never struggled in the Nubble household, but they were far from rich. They were comfortable, healthy, and well taken care of, but they could not have very many presents on holidays or offer a very impressive allowance. Take out was rare and they had only ever gone on an “extravagant” vacation once when Draco was seven and they went to the beach. Draco suspected there was the occasionally financial issue as well, but Mr. and Mrs. Nubble were always tight-lipped about those things with their foster kids, never wanting to worry them.

But a fortune? Draco had a fortune? He wasn’t even sure what to imagine, especially since he had no idea what to expect with any of this wizarding stuff. He could never have expected any of this, couldn’t have imagined his life becoming this, and he still wasn’t entirely sure if it was a dream or not.

Eventually the stone cavern comes up to what looks like a minecart of sorts and the goblin climbs onto the front, giving an impatient motion to the seats behind him. McGonagall gracefully climbs in, sits, and Draco nearly trips into the spot beside her. This was certainly not how Muggle banks worked…

Draco has only just gotten himself situated, hands in his lap, when the goblin takes hold of the controls and they take off like a whip. The young boy shrieks in surprise, hands shooting out to cling to McGonagall’s robes as they rocket out into a massive cavern, a bottomless pit beneath them, all lit by rudimentary torches. The elder witch at his side seems unaffected as they swerve left and right, spiraling down and down and down, sitting up straight and only tilting slightly with the movement. She does have one hand up to hold her hat in place, however, but she hardly seems bothered.

It feels like a rollercoaster. A particularly terrifying one, especially since they have no harness or seatbelts. They should really have seatbelts.

As they keep descending for a second Draco thinks he sees a puff of fire, but he has no idea what it may mean, and he certainly has no time to really consider it because a second later they drive straight under a waterfall and are drenched with sweet-smelling, glittery water.

As they skid to a stop Draco is still open-mouthed in shock and surprise at getting soaked, definitely feeling like he’s at some kind of carnival or amusement park now. “Well… that was rather rude,” he grouches, half realizing they’ve stopped, and McGonagall offers an amused half-smile. She removes her wand for a moment and flicks it, the water still clinging to them both and the goblin flicking off with the motion. The goblin doesn’t even offer a thank you, either. Rude…

“Key,” the goblin demands, hand outstretched and fingers flexing expectantly. McGonagall calmly lays the key she had previously shown him in his palm and he climbs out of the cart. Draco only now realizes they have stopped in front of a door. A really big, ornate, metal door. Silver serpents line the edges with emeralds for eyes, two larger snakes arching down from the top to spiral together then clasp their fanged mouths around a circular space right at level with a goblin.

McGonagall steps out of the cart and offers her hand to Draco, helping him out as he stares at the door, approaching after the goblin. It feels like the emerald eyes in the snakes are watching them the closer they get.

The goblin wastes no time when he gets to the door, not at all caring about how enchanting these decorations are, if they even are decorations. “Did… did my family have a thing for snakes?” Draco whispers, not wanting to speak too loudly, and when he glances up at McGonagall she is smiling, looking almost like she is trying not to laugh. An odd expression on her stern face.

“In a way. They were always very proud of their Hogwarts house,” she explains and Draco would have asked what she meant by that when the goblin did something. All he appeared to be doing was setting his hand on the door, right beside the circular space the two large snakes are biting at, but then the space seems to shift and shimmer to reveal a keyhole that had not previously been there. The goblin, without removing his hand, uses his other to press the key into the keyhole and twist. A very complex cacophony of gears clicking and sliding and whirring sounds from inside the door before it pushes open with a heaving sigh.

The goblin removes the key and hands it back to McGonagall, who hands it to Draco. “Keep that safe,” she tells him and he nods, twisting to put it into a secure pocket on his backpack while the goblin shoves the door the rest of the way open.

Finally the door is opened fully and the dark interior within bursts into light as lanterns hanging from the ceiling come on. The whole room appears to gleam gold, and at first Draco thinks it may just be the fire from the lanterns, until he looks a little harder and realizes that no, that is real gold, and his jaw drops.

Piles and piles of gold coins lay everywhere, meticulously stacked on the floor and tables and shelves. Items of all varying kinds lay mixed in, some laying out in the open, some in glass cases, some up high on shelves carved into the walls, some tumbling out of half open desk drawers. There’re piles upon piles of books along the edges of the walls, the shelves having long since filled it leaves the rest of these books no place else to be.

Draco lets out a small noise of shock, knees feeling like Jell-O as he sways towards the vault. He looks around, not sure where to even begin. His eyes stray to a black cane leaning against a table nearby with a silver snake head at the top before his eyes continue to wander. 

Look at all this stuff… He thought a fortune would just be money, but no, this was so much more. Heirlooms, maybe? Was that what all the objects were? And look at those books. He would absolutely need to bring Hermione here some time.

Then a thought occurred to him as he looked to the piles upon piles of coins.

“You said I could trade in Muggle money for wizarding money here, right?” he manages to find his voice as he looks back at McGonagall and the goblin. The goblin sneers, showing pointy teeth that look especially unpleasant.

“Don’t get any bright ideas. We limit how much you can exchange the other way,” the goblin warns and Draco sighs. So much for his sudden desire for a GameBoy… Maybe he could transfer money over to Muggle currency over time and save up?

“I am glad you are enjoying yourself,” McGonagall cuts into his thoughts and he looks to her and she’s smiling kindly at him, “But we cannot stay for long. You are more than welcome to explore on another day. For now, collect some of the coins so we may be off.” Draco nods, feeling a new, eager energy in his veins as he turns around and begins scooping gold, silver, and bronze coins into his backpack, careful not to damage Mrs. Nubble’s phone.

“Your gold coins are called Galleons,” McGonagall explains as Draco finishes collecting a generous amount and makes his way back to her. “Silver are Sickles and bronze are Knuts.” Draco gives the vault one, last wistful look before the goblin pulls the door shut and they make their way back to the cart. “There are 17 Sickles to a Galleon and 29 Knuts to a Sickle.”

Draco is nodding along, climbing back into his seat after McGonagall, but then the words sink in and he pauses, brows shooting into his bangs. “Wait, wait, what? Did you just say 17 and 29?” he questions, looking between the elder witch and the goblin in disbelief. “THAT’S how you decided to divvy up your currency? With two prime numbers?” McGonagall is giving him an odd look, apparently not seeing any issue here, and Draco scowls slightly. “You must see how illogical that is! That means…” Draco pauses to do the math in his head. Luckily, he always liked math. “There are 493 Knuts in a Galleon! How… what… why?”

The goblin scoffs loudly, finally putting the minecart into gear and taking off, but Draco is too enraptured in this bizarre revelation to be too startled this time. “Muggle-raised folk never understand the complexity and elegance in our system,” he snarls, not at all happy, but Draco hardly cares. He’s not happy about this either.

“There’s plenty of complexity and elegance in multiples of _five_ , too!”

.oOo.

McGonagall said nothing the entire way out of the bank, mostly just watching the back and forth of Draco and the goblin - later goblins once they entered the entry hall - over the money systems between wizarding and Muggle folk. Draco wasn’t sure if she was intrigued, irritated, or found it all humorous. Even he had to admit he had gotten a little ahead of himself, but it just seemed entirely unnecessary to set up a money system so arbitrary.

“According to Professor Flitwick,” the elder witch finally speaks up as they step back into the sunlight. It feels brighter here in Diagon Alley than the rest of London had. “Your friend, Miss. Granger, had a similar conversation with the goblins when she visited.” Oh, that did not surprise him at all. Draco and Hermione disagreed on quite a bit, but they were with each other for the important stuff.

Like the division of money… Or something…

“Well, it is ridiculous,” Draco huffs, holding his head high and pouting rather righteously. He peaks up at McGonagall when she doesn’t reply and sees her staring back at him with an unimpressed, raised brow. “But… I will play by your rules,” he admits slowly, shoulders sagging at her gaze, and she nods.

“Good. We will begin with books,” McGonagall nods and begins to walk, leaving Draco behind momentarily before he shakes himself and hurries to follow, hands clasping his backpack straps to keep it from bouncing around too much.

“Right! Okay, books,” he nods, pulling out his supply list again and looking it over. Suddenly the price of things no longer worried him. His family had apparently been loaded and he had every intention of taking advantage of that.

A sudden, sad pang hits him in the chest, however, when he thinks of his family. Right… He only had all of that because they were gone. It should hurt, and it does, but not like he thinks it should. He feels sad, but not crushingly depressed. 

It’s small enough he manages to push it all away and focus again on his supply list.

“ _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ … Can I get some future grades as well? I wouldn’t mind reading ahead,” he says and doesn’t miss the almost pleased upturn of McGonagall’s lips.

“You are more than welcome to, but I would advise against attempting any more advanced spells. In addition, as an underage wizard you are forbidden from using magic outside of school grounds or any designated areas.”

Draco blanches. “What? I can’t use magic at home? But I wanted to show off to Ada and Frederick!” he whines, disappointment coloring his face.

“You will simply have to wait, then,” McGonagall says, voice firm and final, and Draco pouts down at his list, forcing himself to continue to read.

_A History of Magic_ and _Magical Theory_ seemed easy enough to understand, he decides, then his brows raise at the next book. “Oh! A book about Transfiguration. That’s what you teach, right?”

“It is. It is the magical art of altering the form or appearance of one thing into another,” McGonagall says. They are making their way to what looks like a bookstore called Flourish and Blotts, it seems, and Draco spots plenty of young witches and wizards with their families scurrying in and out.

“Cool…” Draco breathes, imagining transforming all sorts of things.

“Yes, it is quite… cool,” McGonagall looks down and offers a smile to Draco, and he grins back. “If you like I can recommend other books that will be helpful in my classes.”

“Yes!” Draco immediately straightens up, grinning, then thinks of his foster parents and their disapproving looks and corrects himself. “I mean… yes please!” It gets him a nod from McGonagall and they continue. The next book appears to be about herbs and fungi, which Draco isn’t sure what he feels about. Yes, he tends to the garden at home, but he hardly knows many details about the plants. The potions book does catch his attention, though.

When he asks about potions McGonagall pauses, looking thoughtful, before replying, “Our potions master has said on multiple occasions that it is like Chemistry with magic.”

“I love Chemistry!”

“Then I do hope you will love Potions.”

Draco is nearly skipping as they finally enter the book store. There is thankfully a section near the front that appears to be a designated schoolbooks section, but Draco immediately wants to begin exploring. He is still curious about the last two books on the list, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ , but he is distracted by all his surroundings.

It is busy enough here that no one takes notice of him like they did in the Leaky Cauldron, which he is grateful for, and McGonagall gives him a few book title suggestions before stepping to the side to let him wander. She must have seen his excited expression and thought it was finally time to let him explore.

He picks out the school books on his list quickly, plus two more books of spells for grades 2 and 3, and every title McGonagall suggested for him. He also grabs a book called _Advanced Potion Making_ since he’s intrigued how much like chemistry it may actually be like, and he snatches a book about developing one’s own charms. He eyes a book about something called Quidditch at some point, not even sure what that means, and decides to move on until he finds himself standing beside an adult man with flaming, balding, ginger hair and glasses. They appear to be at a section on Muggles, which Draco immediately finds hilarious and can’t help the snort that leaves him.

“Not a fan of Muggle studies, I take it?” asks the man beside him, flipping through a book with a poor, cartoony drawing of what must be a Muggle doing their laundry. Draco looks at it dubiously before looking up at the man.

“It just seems ridiculous to me, is all,” Draco replies with a shrug, remembering his argument with the goblins at Gringotts not just a few minutes ago. Whatever was in these books must be hilarious, he suspects. He knew he shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but really…

The man hums, sounding apprehensive all of a sudden, eying Draco and Draco worries he’s realized just who he is. “Muggles are rather fascinating, if you give them a chance,” he says slowly, one brow arched. Wait… Does he think Draco had some poor opinion about Muggles? That’s what that tone sounded like to him.

“Well… yeah, of course they are,” he replies slowly back, then picks up a book titled _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_ and gives it an unhappy look, “But they’re human too. This almost makes them look like wild animals to be examined in a lab.” Draco stares at the book a moment longer, pouting, then decides to add it to his pile just so he can get a feel what the Wizarding World thinks of his upbringing. “Also, the Muggle money system is way better.” He really couldn’t let go of that last bit, could he?

“Oh!” the man sounds surprised, but pleasantly so. “Oh, I see. You must be muggleborn, yes? Or grew up around Muggles, I suspect. Fascinating! Yes, I suppose this must seem rather silly to you, then,” the man makes a motion to the wall of Muggle books, looking absolutely ecstatic. Draco arches a brow at him but nods. “Silly” sounded appropriate. “You will find that Muggles are as much a mystery to us as we are to them, however.”

“Muggles don’t even know this place exists, though,” Draco argues. It was hard to compare their knowledge of one another when one party wasn’t even privy to the other’s existence.

“True, true, it makes things rather difficult,” the man nods, hand to his chin, before he’s smiling big down at Draco and taking his hand and shaking it. “So sorry, I got away with myself. My name is Arthur Weasley. I work for the Ministry, you see, in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, so I am rather excited to learn all I can about Muggles and how they live.”

“Artefacts? Like ancient tablets or ruins or something?” Draco questions, deflecting the conversation so he doesn’t have to introduce himself yet. Maybe if there were less people in here…

“Certainly, if it is Muggle in origin!” Arthur smiles brightly, still shaking Draco’s hand, happy to be talking about his work, it seems. “Why, just the other day we came across this lovely little device called a ‘Toaster’!”

Draco stares for a long time up at the excited man, not really sure if he believes what he is hearing. “A… toaster… You mean the device used to cook bread into toast?”

“Oh yes! A marvelous demonstration of a Muggles talent to mimic Transfiguration using only their wits and hands,” Arthur nods, apparently not seeing just how ridiculous this was to Draco.

Thankfully the pale boy is saved before the ginger man can continue talking his ear off as two, identical boys with matching ginger hair to the man’s approach. “Dearest father, have you abandoned us?” questions one overdramatically and Arthur, their father, looks back at them.

“You were supposed to be helping us with OUR books, remember?” says the other boy.

“Tsk tsk, mother will not be pleased,” the first boy wiggles his finger at his father, shaking his head mournfully, while the other nods in agreement.

“For shame. Abandoning your children like this.”

“Well, now, I suppose I did get a little sidetracked,” admits Arthur, looking slightly embarrassed at being called out by his own children. “Fred, George, I’m on my way now, no need to tell your mother.”

“Oh, no worries, Pa,” says one twin.

“Yeah! ‘Cause we already told her!”

“See you at the check-out!”

Arthur doesn’t even realize he’s not said good-bye to Draco as he hurries after his sons, looking irritated but also resigned to whatever fate awaits him, and Draco doesn’t feel too agitated at the abrupt exit. If anything, he feels relieved. That man was ready to talk his ear off just because Draco had scoffed. Once. He really hoped he wouldn’t run into him again…

Feeling quite drained from the encounter Draco makes one more round about the store, grabbing a book about Hogwarts itself, then goes to check out. Once done he shoves a few of the books into his backpack and carries the rest out of the store. McGonagall has migrated outside, a book in her own hands as she waits for Draco.

“Have we found everything?” she questions when he approaches her, eying his hefty stack of books with the slightest of smiles on her face. He nods up at her, grinning despite himself.

“What was next?” he asks, half to himself as he balances his books in one arm and pulls out the supply list again. “Wand, cauldron, set of phials, telescope, and brass scales.”

“We will deal with the wand last,” McGonagall decides with a nod, “The rest of your supplies can be retrieved at once save for the cauldron and your robes.” The elder witch pauses to look at Draco thoughtfully. “You are also allowed a familiar.”

“A familiar? You mean a pet?” Draco questions, getting a nod from the witch, and he looks back down at the list. Yes, near the bottom of the supplies it did say he could bring one of three animals - either a cat, toad, or owl, which seemed like odd choices - but he hadn’t really put much thought into it. 

“Toads are… fine,” McGonagall says at length when Draco falls silent. “I am much more partial to a cat myself, and owls are quite useful when needed.” Right, they used owls for their mail, didn’t they? That certainly would be helpful. Plus, he didn’t want a toad, and a cat could be detrimental to the garden and his snake friends. So could an owl though, if he wasn’t careful…

Which to pick? If he even wanted one… He doubted the Nubbles would be too ecstatic for him to arrive home with a new pet without their permission.

But then he remembers Mrs. Nubble’s screech as that owl snatched her letter out of her hands and how she had been absolutely terrified of the bird McGonagall later called in during their first meeting and Draco smirks. He looks up at the elder witch with a half-eager, half-evil sparkle to his eyes.

“I want an owl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are having a good day and you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> I do this with all my other stories so I'm gonna do it here too. Chapter song! Sometimes it'll play into the theme of the chapter, other times it is what I was listening to while writing, or maybe it's just something I wanted to share with y'all!
> 
> Have a lovely day!
> 
> Chapter Song: [Bad Kids To The Back - Snarky Puppy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fEHpq-BxFm4) (warning: flashing lights)


	3. Making Connections

McGonagall decided the owl could wait until later, which Draco supposed he could understand. They still had plenty to do and having a live animal with them could impede their progress.

They retrieved a cauldron, pewter like the list says, from a place called Potage’s Cauldron Shop and Draco slipped some of his books into the cauldron to help him carry them. It is as they are passing a place called Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions that McGonagall stops them.

“Go ahead and get fitted for your robes. It may take a moment so I will retrieve the last of your supplies,” she says, motioning to the shop with a pointed nod before she’s hurrying off without actually seeming to be in a hurry. Draco blinks after her before facing the robes shop and slowly entering.

This shop wasn’t as busy as some of the other stores, seeming to be in a little, calm bubble all its own, and Draco could appreciate that. There was a slightly older witch adjusting a display in the window when the blonde enters and she looks up at him the second the bell above the door jingles. She gives him a single once over before nodding and approaching.

“Hogwarts, dear?” she says before he can get a word out and he nods. She nods back then ushers him towards a much larger side room where robes hang along the walls and a stool floats over to stand near the middle of the floor. “Stand right on there,” the woman, Draco wonders if she’s Madam Malkin, motions to the stool, “and we’ll get you fitted, shall we?” The blonde hops onto the stool, looking around at all the clothes. 

He had never been fitted for anything before. Most all his clothes were hand-me-downs or from charity stores. He was a little excited to have something made specifically for him.

“Arms up,” the elder witch says and he does so, letting a long, black robe float onto his form. It falls past his feet, past the stool, and pools on the ground. When he lowers his arms the sleeves cover up his hands. He must look ridiculous, but he figures this must be part of the process.

The witch begins measuring and pinning the robe with practiced ease. She uses her wand once to spell the thing to a more reasonable size as well before continuing on Draco’s specific, personal measurements. He feels rather posh, if he is honest with himself. He only knew of people getting suits needing to be fitted, so he lets himself pretend for a moment that he’s some rich, young bachelor getting ready for a party.

Although, he supposes he actually is rich, now…

The bell at the front door jingles again and the witch looks up. She pats Draco’s arm and smiles. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move, please,” she says then hurries off. It takes Draco a moment to realize that her measuring tape is still flying about him, taking measurements in seemingly random places. He wasn’t sure why it was important to measure the circumference of his ankle for robes, but the measuring tape apparently thought it necessary.

“I wonder if you’re sentient,” Draco whispers to the flying measuring tape just as voices in the main room reach his ears. It sounds like another customer, and they’re making their way to the room Draco is currently in.

“--have another young man here, already. Take a spot beside him,” the witch is saying and, really, Draco thinks he’ll just assume she’s Madam Malkin because he can’t keep thinking of her as just “that old witch.”

He glances back at the entryway as Malkin returns leading another young boy, maybe Draco’s age, and a stool flies by to land a few paces away from the blonde. The other boy, a scrawny thing, has a mop of black hair, round glasses, green eyes, and the biggest grin on his face Draco has ever seen. The boy hops onto the second stool and doesn’t have to be asked to raise his hands as his own robe, black like Draco’s, flies over and onto him.

It’s a few moments after Malkin has pulled out a second measuring tape that the other boy seems to finally notice Draco and smiles over at him, a tiny bit more subdued but still more energy than seems necessary. “Hello!” the boy says brightly and Draco blinks.

“Hullo,” he says back, head tilting curiously. He wasn’t sure what all a wizard would need black robes for, but this boy seems to be his age and getting the same thing as him, so it seemed logical to ask, “Hogwarts, too?”

The grin grows again, back to the original intensity, and he nods, hair bouncing with the movement. It was like every part of him was energized. “Yeah! You too, then?” Draco nods and the boy does a little hop that momentarily throws off Malkin’s work. “I’m really excited.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Draco drawls sarcastically, smirking when the boy hesitates, eyes widening, before he’s snorting and glancing away, smiling a bit more subdued.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, just… I’ve heard so much about Hogwarts that I can’t wait to actually go myself,” the boy’s lips suddenly twist into a thoughtful pout, brows furrowing. “Wish they’d let us have our own brooms, though. Dad says the school ones have always been garbage…” the boy’s head tilts and he looks mildly annoyed, “Then he tells me he wants a full play by play of when I finally have to ride one. I think he’s messing with me.”

Draco was only half listening now, his eyes widening at something the boy had said. He had McGonagall to answer his questions, sure, but she was so stern and intimidating that he wasn’t sure how to have a full conversation with her on everything he was interested in asking. Plus, she was OLD. It would probably do to make some connections with other kids his age, and this one seemed to know his stuff.

“The school has their own brooms?” he questions, because that sounded spectacular. He so wanted to try out flying on one, and while he had been prepared to wait he still knew he would be antsy until he finally would get to try.

The boy looks over to him, brows raised in surprise, then lowering as he actually looks at Draco. He seems to be examining him and the blonde stiffens. Madam Malkin hadn’t mentioned anything about him being the Boy-Who-Lived, or whatever, but that could have been because she hadn’t realized or was too professional to care. Then that Arthur man hadn’t noticed who he was because he’d been so wrapped up talking about Muggles. That didn’t mean this other boy would be the same.

But then the boy is smiling again, shaking himself out, again throwing off Malkin’s pinning, and laughs. “Oh, yeah! They’re really old and apparently drift slightly to the left, but they’re there. Dad’s taken me out flying a couple times, but mom doesn’t like him teaching me anything crazy.” The boy pouts at that last part, looking away as he probably remembers some incident, then turns back to Draco and smiles. This boy was just all smiles, wasn’t he? It was a little unnerving. Like a sweeter Ada, which sounded rather wrong.

“What subjects are you looking forward to most?” the boy asks, head tilting, and Draco pauses.

“Is all an option?” he asks, a little snark coloring his words. Hermione said it was his default tone. 

“I guess. I’m looking forward to Charms, I think. I like thinking about all the spells I could use day to day,” the boy replies, taking over the conversation again. Draco would usually have been rather put off by that, but he didn’t have enough knowledge on what they were talking about to really contribute. “I can’t wait to get sorted, too! Uncle Sirius and dad tried to trick me into thinking I’d have to fight the giant squid to get sorted, but mom hexed them and told me it was just a hat.”

Draco blinks slowly over at the boy as he continues to ramble. He’d been doing a relatively good job keeping up until that last bit. Now he was more confused than before. “Hey, uh, you mind if I’m honest with you real quick?”

The boy stops mid-sentence and looks over, green eyes wide with surprise. He probably hadn’t even noticed he was talking so much. “Oh! Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

That startles a giggle out of the boy and he nods, like he’s come to some realization, before grinning brightly at Draco. Was this boy the embodiment of the sun, or something? “Sorry, sorry. So, there’s four houses at Hogwarts, right? And you get sorted into one at the beginning of your first year.”

“With a hat?”

“Apparently,” the boy shrugs, which also throws off Madam Malkin’s pinning and he yelps in surprise as one sticks his arm. Malkin looks at him distastefully and he has the good grace to smile in apology for all his squirming.

“What are the houses?” Draco asks, brows furrowing in thought. He remembers McGonagall saying his parents had been very proud of their house down at the Malfoy Vault, and he remembered her mentioning if she thought he’d be sorted into something called Ravenclaw. Were these the same things?

“Well, there’s Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin,” the boy says, one of his hands counting up to four with his fingers.

“Those are… unique names,” Draco admits after a moment. Were all the names here always going to sound made up to him?

“Are they? I’ve never noticed,” the boy shrugs, not seeing any issue at all, and suddenly his expression becomes distant and thoughtful as he speaks. “So each house prefers certain kinds of people. Like… certain characteristics are really important to each one. Ravenclaws like brains and curiosity, Hufflepuffs like loyalty and friendship, Slytherins like ambition and resourcefulness, and Gryffindors like courage and chivalry.” The boy finally looks at Draco again and smiles but… it seems strained on the edges. “Both my parents were in Gryffindor so we’re hoping I’ll end up there, too.”

Draco hums, silver eyes examining the other boy thoughtfully, and nods. Okay, so… houses equaled like-minded students. Ravenclaw, the one McGonagall had mentioned, sounded fine. He knew he was smart, and he had always been curious, but he also knew there was plenty more to him than that. 

He doubted he’d fit into that Hufflepuff one. Sure, he was loyal, but only when he wanted to be, and considering his only friend was a friend out of necessity because they were both weirdos in their homes… no, he certainly wasn’t friendly.

Slytherin sounded pretty good. Really good, actually. He knew what he wanted most of the time and went for it, using whatever he had at his disposal to do so. But, again, he had so much more to himself.

And this Gryffindor… Draco glances at the other boy, who had fallen silent and thoughtful, smile distant. Nothing sounded wrong about it. Bravery and chivalry were important. He doesn’t think he fits that definition at all, but he doesn’t see any major issues with it either. Did this boy have a problem with it, though?

“Alright boys, I’m done with you both. You’re free to go,” Madam Malkin suddenly says, stopping Draco from questioning the boy on why he seemed so upset. She stands and the adjusted robes fly off both boys’ shoulders. The blonde glances at the older witch in confusion. How had they finished at the same time if Draco had gotten there so much earlier? Malkin simply smiles back at him and says, “Always so nice to see children getting along,” then ushers them out of the room and back to the entrance.

“Oh, well, thank you!” the other boy calls, cheerful grin back in place, and Draco nods his own thanks to the elder witch without a word.

“Give me just a moment to sort out how much you’ll owe,” Madam Malkin says then scurries to the front desk and begins looking over a book of sorts, leaving the two boys standing there in the middle of the entry room.

“Oh, my parents should be in in a second to pay,” the other boy says, glancing worriedly back at the front door. “They got caught up talking to their old Transfiguration teacher.”

Draco looks over at that, brows rising, and he takes a wild guess, “Is it Professor McGonagall?”

“Yeah! That was her name. Apparently, she’s going to be our teacher, too.”

“I know. She’s been showing me around everywhere and teaching me about this world.”

The boy stares at him for a moment before nodding to himself yet again and grinning. “Yep, I had a feeling. You must be muggleborn,” he says confidently and Draco arches a brow at him. No, he wasn’t. He was apparently pureblooded, according to McGonagall, he was only raised by Muggles. Except… the other boy couldn’t possibly know that. He probably made the assumption thanks to Draco’s near nonexistent knowledge.

The other boy, however, spots the raised brow and his grin vanishes. “N-not that that’s bad! I just… My mom’s muggleborn so… okay, I shouldn’t have been so blunt, I’ve been told it’s an issue, so… I wasn’t trying to be rude, I swear.” Oh, the boy thought Draco was upset. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to let him sit in it for a few seconds, would it?

Finally, a smirk itching to pull at Draco’s lips, he stops the poor boy’s rambling, “I’m not muggleborn, but I was raised by Muggles.” The boy seems to deflate, seeming relieved to have not insulted anyone, and smiles sheepishly up at him.

“That’s… different,” the boy says and Draco shrugs. He wasn’t sure if it was that different or not, but he supposed it didn’t matter.

Then, feeling confident and pleased and certain no crowds of wizards would materialize out of nowhere if he said this, he outstretches his hand and says, “I’m Draco Malfoy, by the way.” Mr. and Mrs. Nubble had always said a good introduction was important for making friends and connections alike. Always be direct and firm, have a strong handshake, and smile just enough to be comfortable.

He’s pretty sure he does all that, except… except the other boy is frowning at him now, his brows furrowed under his messy, dark bangs. “No, you’re not,” he says and Draco blanches, hand falling to his side in surprise.

“What? Yes, I am!”

“But you didn’t know anything about wizarding stuff,” the boy says, arms crossing and eyes narrowing suspiciously. What? Was he supposed to have known? What kind of things did people believe about him here? “And Draco Malfoy disappeared after he killed You-Know-Who. You look like what everyone says he looks like, but--”

Draco silences him by grabbing the collar of his grey t-shirt and pulling down low enough to show the top half of his lightning scar, silver eyes thinned. Now it’s the other boy’s turn to blanch, eyes bugging out then looking back at Draco in shock. Oh, now that was a funny expression. Draco doesn’t mind smirking as the other boy begins to stammer.

“O-oh… you’re…” He blinks his big green eyes then leans forward like he’s telling a secret. “You’re Draco Malfoy…”

“Yes, that is what I just said,” the blonde says, brow arched, unimpressed but very much amused. He may not have liked the swarm of people at the Leaky Cauldron, but this? With such a small crowd? He could get behind.

The other boy turns pink and ducks his head, scratching at his mop of hair and giggling nervously. “Sorry…” he mumbles then extends his hand like Draco had done a moment ago, expression apologetic, “I’m Harry Potter.”

Draco pauses only a moment, eying the hand and this Harry Potter thoughtfully. Then, with a small smile of his own, he reaches out and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, Harry Potter.”

Harry grins brightly, like he had before he’d made a fool of himself, “Nice to meet you too, Draco Malfoy.”

.oOo.

Draco and Harry have a few more minutes of quiet chatter after they properly introduce themselves before Madam Malkin lets them know how much they owe. Draco pays for his and Harry says he sees his parents outside and he’ll hopefully see Draco later.

They part ways from there, Draco feeling surprisingly lighter as he hops outside to greet McGonagall and the two adults he assumes are Harry’s parents. James and Lily Potter, he learns, and when he tells them Harry is waiting for them Lily looks embarrassed and hurries in while James laughs and follows at a more subdued pace.

McGonagall shakes her head after the pair, looking both fond and mildly put out. “They never change,” she says distantly, then focuses back down on Draco. “You retrieved everything?”

Draco nods and shows her his bundle of clothes made just for him. She nods after looking them over and then seems to conjure out of thin air a set of glass phials, brass scales, and a simple, yet elegant, telescope. They bundle all the bulkier things together as best they can and McGonagall shrinks them down to fit into her palm then sets them in a pocket of Draco’s backpack.

“Okay!” the blonde is grinning brightly, yet again pulling out his letter. “Last is my wand and an owl. Right?”

“That is correct,” McGonagall nods, glancing around the street. It was mid-day by now and it was getting more and more crowded by the minute. “We should also get something to eat. It is nearly lunchtime.”

Oh, yes, food sounded great. Draco had been so wrapped up in the trip he hadn’t been paying very close attention to his stomach. Now that he was, however, he realized food would be very much appreciated. “Can we eat something magic?” he asks eagerly, looking up at McGonagall with big, pleading eyes. He doesn’t _really_ expect the look to work, but her unimpressed, lifted eyebrow seems rather unnecessary…

“Something magic… How do you mean?” she questions and Draco hesitates. He had no idea what he meant, he just knew he wanted to experience as much of this world as he possibly could. There had to be foods he was unfamiliar with.

“I dunno… Just something that isn’t Muggle, I suppose,” he tries to clarify, scuffing his feet and ducking his head. Maybe a more dejected look would win him some points?

“Ah, I see,” the elder witch hums, evidently not at all affected by this look either. Dang, Draco couldn’t win with her… “I suppose we may try something from a stall, if we must…” McGonagall doesn’t look too pleased to be eating anything from one of the street side vendors, but Draco is too excited to care.

Lunch turns out to be roasted chestnuts that float in Draco’s palm, some cheese covered pastry that changes color each time someone bites it, and ice cream from a store called Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor. The ice cream isn’t particularly magical, but Draco hardly cares, his plain vanilla with sprinkles tastes delicious. McGonagall doesn’t look too pleased about the lunch choices, opting out of getting anything for herself, however she says nothing to stop Draco and his excited taste testing.

Eventually, “lunch” eaten, they make their way to a store called Eeylops Owl Emporium. It isn’t very big and cages hang all along the front with owls of all kinds sitting inside. They watch as people pass by, big eyes seeming to size up every witch or wizard that takes a look at them. Draco stares at a beautiful barn owl for a few moments, mesmerized by the creature, before McGonagall gently ushers him to the front door and inside.

There are no bells or jingles to announce their arrival, probably so as to keep the owls relaxed, but there is a front desk only a few feet away with a tired looking wizard sitting behind it. The place is dark and cramped, full of cages and shelves pushing in from every direction. Bird droppings litter the floor and the occasional noise of an owl hooting or ruffling its feathers fills Draco’s ears.

He’s almost too excited to care about stepping in bird dung, but he does make a point of stepping as carefully around the floor as he can, eyes flicking up and around at all the birds of prey. Yes, owls were certainly an odd choice to use for a mailing system, but they were so beautiful Draco figured he could forgive them.

“Take a look around, if you like,” says the male employee, not moving from his spot but at least looking up at them.

Draco looks back at McGonagall, eyes big and childlike. “Which do I pick?” he asks. Are certain types better than others? He knew next to nothing about the breeds of owls. Why would he until this point?

But McGonagall is smiling at him again, much fonder and kinder than usual, and it stops Draco in his tracks. “Whichever one speaks to you,” she says with a nod, then motions with her hand for him to start looking around. Ah, right… more than anything this was a pet. A companion.

A friend.

So, he takes a deep breath and turns to look at all the cages. He recognized the barn and snowy owls. The rest he had to go off plaques on the cages. Brown owls. Tawny owls. Screech owls. Barred owls. They were all wonderful in their own ways, but none of them spoke to him.

That is until he reached one of the far corners. It had taken some weaving, but he had eventually found himself in front of a single cage, set just a little bit farther away from all the others, with a beautiful, menacing owl within. It looks furious the way its brows curve over its big, orange eyes and two tufts at the top look almost like devil horns. It stares at Draco, judging him, before it shakes its head and tucks it under a wing.

Draco lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and approaches, eyes wide. On the plaque on the cage it reads “Eagle Owl (female) - Temperamental.” He didn’t know what they meant by temperamental, but the creature was stunning in his eyes.

He carefully reaches up and picks up the cage by the top, unhooking it and bringing it close. The eagle owl pulls her head out from her wing to look at him again, looking rumpled and agitated, before tilting her head and hooting. Draco grins at her. She didn’t seem temperamental at all, just a tad grumpy.

He turns and makes his way back to the front desk, presenting the cage to McGonagall and then the employee. The wizard looks to the cage in boredom before doing a doubletake and stepping back. “Hey, kid, listen, that owl… maybe not a good choice for a first owl,” he says, sounding frantic, eyes darting between the eagle owl and Draco as if expecting the bird to somehow attack from within her cage.

Draco is having none of it. He pouts immediately, holding the cage a little closer to his chest and looking up at the employee unhappily. “Excuse me, but this is the owl I choose. She’s lovely and I want her.”

The wizard glances back at McGonagall for help, expression verging on panicked. “Listen, that owl… she has a bad habit of biting and sneaking out of her cage. We had to put a lock on her door…” Draco blinks then looks at the cage door. Sure enough, the eagle owl has a little lock on it where all the other cages do not. The blonde frowns at the sight then looks back at McGonagall, pleading for help.

With a very hefty sigh the witch steps forward. “The owl was on display and he would like it, so he will have it,” she says to the employee firmly then looks down at Draco. “Pay for her.” The pale boy nods vigorously and digs out fifteen galleons, the amount shown on a little tag on the cage, and hands it over to the very disgruntled employee. The wizard slowly takes the money, looking between the two, but dares not question McGonagall’s severe tone.

“Very good. Now,” the elder witch turns to the cage and brandishes her wand in a swift movement. She makes a sweeping motion with it then taps it to the lock. “ _Alohomora_ ,” she says firmly and the lock clicks open with no hesitation. Draco stares at her in amazement, deciding to make note of whatever she just said for later, then pulls off the lock and opens the cage door.

The eagle owl blinks out at him for a few moments, measuring the situation, before slipping out of the cage in one, smooth motion, wings spreading as she flies into the air. Some of the other owls hoot in surprise and she dives at the employee’s head, snatching at his hair with her talons and making him shriek rather loudly and dive behind the desk. Draco’s lips immediately crack into a grin at that just as the eagle owl swoops towards him and lands heavily onto his shoulder.

She hoots once then nuzzles at Draco’s head, seeming to be thanking him for letting her out.

“She’ll be a menace,” McGonagall sighs, stepping over and using the back of her knuckles to pet the eagle owl’s head. The owl seems just as happy with her as she does with Draco, pressing into the petting before returning her attentions to her new owner.

“Sh-sh-she’ll need f-food,” the employee stammers, slowly peeking out from behind the desk, eyes as wide as the owls around him. He then brings up a hand to point at a nearby shelf filled with all kinds of owl treats and feed. The eagle owl spots him before he can say anything else, however, and hoots loudly at him. The employee yelp and dives back behind the desk.

McGonagall sighs deeply and moves to retrieve the proper food stuffs for Draco’s new owl.

“I love her,” he says, grinning brightly up at the bird. He reaches up and scratches at her chest feathers, earning a happy little twitter that only makes him grin bigger. “Temperamental? Please, they just didn’t understand you, didn’t they?” he says to her sweetly and she hoots as if to agree with him.

“She will need a name,” McGonagall says, setting a small amount of money on the front desk to pay for the owl food herself. Slowly, a shaking hand appears from behind the desk to drag the money down.

“Oh, way ahead of you!” Draco grins at her then looks again at the owl on his shoulder. The moment he had decided he wanted an owl he knew exactly what name he would give it. “Tootsie!”

McGonagall blinks very slowly at that, not reacting whatsoever to the name, while the newly named Tootsie presses her head into Draco’s hand for more attention. “Tootsie?”

“Yeah! And if they’d been a boy owl I would have named him ‘Mr. Owl’,” Draco replies brightly, then hesitates when he spots the witch still staring at him. “Like… you know, like the commercial?” At McGonagall’s blank stare Draco begins to sweat. “For… for tootsie roll pops?” The elder witch shakes her head, showing she really has no idea what he’s talking about.

Draco takes a deep breath in, holds it, then lets it out in a long gust. “It’s okay…” he says slowly, “No one’s perfect.” That earns him a raised eyebrow and a very slight smirk thrown his way.

“Come along,” McGonagall says instead of replying. She begins walking towards the exit and Draco holds up the cage to Tootsie, quietly asking her to get inside while they walk around. The eagle owl hesitates, but ultimately returns to her cage, seeming pleased when Draco tosses the lock at the front desk none-too-gently. “I think it is about time we got you your wand.”

.oOo.

Ollivander’s wasn’t at all what Draco had suspected, but then again, nothing had been so far. It was a thin building, rather shabby, and the gold lettering on the front was peeling. Draco had suspected that something so important to the wizarding culture would have a more spectacular shop…

“Ollivander’s: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C,” Draco reads aloud from the store sign, brows furrowed and clutching Tootsie’s cage close to his chest. “That’s… a really long time.”

“Wizards and witches have been around for a very long time,” McGonagall replies, also looking at the store, though she appeared to have a nostalgic look to her eye. Draco looks up at her.

“Did you get your wand from here?” he asks quietly, not wanting to interrupt whatever memory she may have been visiting, but too curious to stay quiet.

“I did,” the professor replies, pulling out her wand and showing it to Draco. It was smooth and straight, made of dark wood, with a slightly lighter handle. It looked very elegant, if Draco was being honest, and he couldn’t wait for his own. Did they all look the same? Did they not? How did one even make wands?

McGonagall slips her wand away and urges Draco towards the store and they slip inside. As uncertain as the outside may have made him feel, the young wizard immediately felt a very different atmosphere within. There were shelves filled with thin boxes everywhere, a light dust coating every surface and little particles floating through the air. It didn’t look particularly special, but it felt like so much more.

Draco looked around at all the boxes, eyes sparkling. Were these the wands, then? Did he just grab one? He glances back and sees McGonagall has taken a seat near the front door, brushing down her robes then folding her hands into her lap. She seems to be waiting for something and Draco opens his mouth to ask what he should do when he’s cut off.

“Be right with you,” a man’s voice calls. The blonde startles, holding Tootsie’s cage a little tighter, and the owl hoots at him to be more careful. He pouts down at her, sets the cage beside McGonagall, then walks further into the store. He peeks down one line of shelves just in time to see an old man with silver hair and beard stepping off a stool and walking towards him. His eyes are pale and silvery with a deep knowledge Draco has no idea how to fathom.

“Well…” says the old man, pausing when he sees Draco, and the blond squares his shoulders. “Draco Malfoy, The-Boy-Who-Vanished.” The man steps all the way forward, looking down at Draco with his shining eyes, and Draco doesn’t know what to say. Right… famous… he really needed to get used to this, didn’t he?

But then the man is smiling, just a touch, and he hums to himself. “Finally ready for your first wand, then? Why, it feels like only yesterday I was outfitting your parents with their first wands,” he says and now Draco’s eyes widen in shock.

“My parents? You knew my parents?” he questions, surprised. He supposed, if this was Ollivander, he seemed old enough to have sold Draco’s parents their wands…

“Oh, yes. Your father’s was a family heirloom, of course - elm, dragon heartstring, nearly 1,000 years old - but I assisted in fashioning it to that cane of his. Your mother’s - redwood, unicorn hair, 10 inches - was a favorite of mine. Took us nearly a half hour to sort her out.”

Draco’s brows are furrowed by this point, not sure exactly what was just said to him, and it looks like Ollivander might be laughing at him a little. “I remember every wand I sell, you see,” the old wizard supplies, then his silvery eyes flick past Draco and his smile brightens a little bit. “Ah, Professor McGonagall - fir, dragon heartstring, 9 ½ inches - how is yours suiting you?”

The witch pulls out her wand once more and waves it once through the air. “As perfect as ever, Mr. Ollivander,” McGonagall says and Draco’s eyes widen. Wait, Ollivander had sold McGonagall her wand? But…

The blonde looks up at Ollivander with thinned eyes, suspicious. “How old are you?” he questions and hears McGonagall hiss a warning at him almost immediately, but Ollivander seems unphased. 

“Old enough, Mr. Malfoy,” he replies cheekily which, fine, that’s fair, but Draco is still curious. “Now, shall we begin?”

The old wizard pulls a tape measure out from his robes, not too different from the one Madam Malkin used during his fitting. “Dominant hand?” he questions and Draco raises his right hand without a word, watching transfixed as Ollivander begins measuring the arm. Fingertip to knuckle, wrist to elbow, elbow to shoulder, width of his forearm, width of his… neck? Okay… Circumference of his head-- okay that one felt like he was being messed with.

“The wand is a most important part of every witch and wizard, Mr. Malfoy,” Ollivander is saying as he measures across Draco’s knuckles, “It is an extension of one’s self. Tricky stuff, finding the right one, but so very rewarding.” With a snap the measuring tape very suddenly retracts and Ollivander pockets it. His expression looked distant, like he was thinking in some other world, and he turns away to start rummaging through the boxes. “The wand picks the owner, you see, so let us try out a few options.”

“So, I don’t pick out the wand? It’s the other way around?” Draco asks as Ollivander approaches once more, a box in hand that he slides the top off of.

“Precisely!” he says, smiling at Draco happily, then lifts a wand from the box. “Poplar, unicorn hair, 8 inches,” he says and hands the wand over. Draco holds it in front of him and, after a beat of silence, begins to feel like an idiot. “Well?” Ollivander prompts, “Give it a wave.”

Oh. Oh! Okay, that made sense. Draco nods and waves the wand much like he’d seen McGonagall do when she changed the Nubble’s chair into an ostrich. A small gust of wind ruffles his hair and Ollivander’s robes, but it’s weak and Draco doesn’t feel anything particularly special about it. Judging by the look on the old man’s face Ollivander probably sees that too.

The wand is snatched out of his hand and put back away. “No, certainly not,” he mumbles before he begins digging around again. He returns with another wand. “Rowan, dragon heartstring, 11 ¾ inches.” Again, Draco takes the wand and waves it. This time the bell on the front desk pops up into the air before falling back with a loud, clattering noise. Ollivander snatches that one away, too.

“What is that you keep saying?” Draco asks as the wandmaker scurries off, “About the wood and the… the unicorn and dragon stuff.”

Ollivander returns, holding out a new wand - “Yew, dragon heartstring, 10 ½ inches” - that Draco takes. “Ah, yes. The wood is, of course, what that wand is made of, adding a personality to the wand that speaks differently to every witch and wizard.”

Draco waves the wand and absolutely nothing happens, so it is taken away as well. “And the unicorn and dragon stuff?” he urges.

“Ah, yes, the core of the wand. The source of the wand’s power,” Ollivander explains, tapping thoughtfully at a pair of boxes in front of him. “Unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix tail feather. Those are the three I use.”

“The three you use? Are there other kinds of cores?”

He returns with another wand, “Cedar, unicorn tail hair, 12 ¼ inches,” and when Draco waves it a stack of boxes topples over rather dramatically. “Oh certainly,” Ollivander answers the boy, taking that wand away as well and continuing his search. Did all his customers take this long? Draco wondered… “But these are the three I find most promising.”

Draco nods, beginning to understand, now, what Ollivander was saying. He wouldn’t mind seeing what other kinds of wands were out there. There had to be other wandmakers, right? He wondered what else was used.

“This feels like a good one,” the old wizard says with the next wand, looking cheerful, and hands over the next wand. “Hawthorn, unicorn hair, 10 inches,” he says and Draco takes it. It does feel promising, but when he waves it the store’s front window blows out with a bang. Draco jumps back in alarm and even McGonagall has stood up. “Nope,” Ollivander says tightly and snatches the wand away while McGonagall begins mending the window with slow motions of her own wand. Draco glances down at the floor and sees Tootsie staring at him, looking unimpressed.

“Shut up,” he grumbles at her and she hoots.

They try many more wands. None of them have the same force as the hawthorn one, and none of them speak to Draco in any manner. At least there isn’t any more major destruction…

Beginning to feel dejected and tired, Draco wonders if he is even meant to have a wand. Was he some kind of dud? Was he a freak even in the Wizarding World? He is so wrapped up in his own self-doubt he only half hears Ollivander mumble, “I wonder…” while looking at his shelves.

It’s a few moments later before the wandmaker returns, looking thoughtful as he presents a new wand to Draco. “Try this one,” he says and immediately the blonde is curious. All the others Ollivander had named what the wand had been made of, but not this one.

Carefully Draco removes the wand from the box and is immediately smitten by its looks. A sleek, black wand sits in his palm, the grip artistically geometric and the end smooth and straight. Stunning is a word Draco would use for it and he absently waves it, eyes glued on the shining wood.

Immediately white sparks begin jumping from the end of his wand, glowing brilliantly and dancing around him once they hit the air. It feels like a light is shining inside Draco’s chest, warm and comfortable, and it remains a while longer even when the sparks vanish.

Feeling a grin pull at his face Draco looks back at McGonagall. This had to be his wand! He didn’t know what else it could be. The witch has a smile on her face and offers a few, congratulatory claps.

“Yes, well done,” Ollivander is saying, but he still sounds distant, “This wand was meant for you.” Draco grudgingly sets the wand back in its box and follows the wandmaker to the front desk so he can purchase it. “Curious…”

Draco tilts his head, uncertain if he was meant to hear that last word. “What’s curious?”

“Ah, well…” Ollivander looks up, still thoughtful, but a bit more focused on Draco now. He holds up the box with Draco’s wand in it and arches a brow at it. “Ebony, phoenix tail feather, 10 ½ inches,” he says slowly, then turns his arched brow on Draco. “The phoenix feather core is a rather unique substance. A phoenix will only offer up two of its feathers, you see, and the brother to this wand, the twin, why… its owner is the very one who gave you that scar.” Ollivander motions towards Draco’s chest, and the boy subconsciously pulls up the collar of his shirt, hiding any revealed edges of his scar.

“Voldemort,” he says quietly, eyes widening in surprise, and Ollivander looks suddenly uncomfortable. Ah, right, he wasn’t supposed to say his name.

“Yes… So, curious, as I said Mr. Malfoy,” the wandmaker continues, “how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, after all.” Draco feels himself stiffening the more Ollivander talks, unsure how one should react to this information. “I believe we should expect great things from you, Mr. Malfoy,” Ollivander says, a bit gentler and more thoughtful, “After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible, yes… but great.”

Draco wants to snap that that monster killed his parents and left him orphaned, but he bites his tongue and quietly hands over seven galleons for his wand. It doesn’t matter who his wand’s “twin” is, this one was his and he loved it. He wouldn’t let some sour memories ruin this moment for him.

When he turns, ready to leave, McGonagall is watching him thoughtfully, but then schools her expression and stands. “Time to be off,” she says simply and Draco nods. He grabs Tootsie’s cage and he leaves Ollivander’s, ready to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun chapter to write! Hope you all enjoyed reading it as well.
> 
> Chapter Song: [Connection - OneRepublic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJUM11goXAU)


	4. Of Trading Cards and Hidden Trains

“Oh my gosh!”

Draco cringes at the loud yelp by his side, looking sharply over at Hermione where they both sit on the Nubble’s couch. She doesn’t look at all apologetic, especially since her nose is still buried in a book. _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ reads the front.

“What?” he snaps, pointedly rubbing his ear when the girl finally looks up. She still doesn’t look apologetic.

“You’re in a book! Look!” Hermione says brightly, turning the book towards Draco and shoving it into his face. He scowls at her over the top of the book, but when she doesn’t let up he takes it and starts to read. There appears to be an entire two pages dedicated to him and his “defeat” of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It sang his praises while also sighting the general response of the public and how no one had known where he had gone afterwards. It made him want to both preen and shrink away.

He doesn’t get a chance to decide how to react, however, as Ada slumps onto the couch behind him and reads over his shoulder. “Yeah… that’s weird. Seriously, you do NOT need any boosts to that swollen ego of yours,” she says and Draco immediately leans away from her, her breath smelling absolutely foul.

“Uhg, watch where you’re talking,” he scowls at her, pinching his nose and Hermione takes back her book. Ada just grins, though, and holds up a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. After getting his wand Draco had asked McGonagall if they could drop by some of the more miscellaneous shops, and since they still had time before he had to return home she had agreed. Draco had then retrieved his promised souvenirs. The beans, once he found out what they were, had been a first choice, and he had also grabbed a small box of a dozen chocolate frogs. When looking at quills and parchment he had decided to buy a self-inking quill for Ada as well, hoping to use the third souvenir as yet another bribe.

(“So… it’s a pen?” Ada had said when he’d given it to her.

“It does it with magic though,” Draco had smirked and the quill was quickly snatched from his hand.)

“I found one that tasted like dog food,” Ada smirks at the blonde, shaking her box of beans, not at all bothered her breath smells like death.

Draco’s scowl only deepens.

The day after his trip to Diagon Alley Draco had immediately asked if Hermione could come over and visit. After finishing his chores in record time, the Nubbles had agreed and his only friend had stormed into the house only a few minutes later carrying every book she had gotten on her own trip to Diagon Alley. They settled in the living room, spreading out their books and comparing. Much as McGonagall had suggested extra Transfiguration books to Draco, this Professor Flitwick had suggested extra Charms books to Hermione. Before being interrupted, Draco had been skimming through some of these, trying to swear the words and motions and notes to memory for when he would be allowed to use his wand.

Hermione had also gotten to show Draco her own wand. It was a lovely, pale wand with spiraling designs like vines all along its handle. “Vine wood and dragon heartstring,” Hermione had boasted as she and Draco had swapped and compared their new magical devices.

That was about when Ada had wandered in, calling them nerds, probably avoiding her own chores, and plopped down to start eating her new candy.

“Can we focus on the fact that you are in a book?” Hermione demands, looking disgruntled between Draco and Ada. The blonde looks back at her with an arched brow.

“Is it really that big of a deal?” he questions, feeling oddly defensive. He really didn’t need Hermione gushing over him for this. He didn’t even DO anything. If he wanted Hermione to start praising him, he wanted it to be over something legitimate.

“I mean…” Hermione stares at him in surprise before deflating, “I suppose it isn’t.”

They lapse into silence after that, the only sound the turning of pages and Ada’s loud chewing. It wasn’t uncomfortable, thankfully. It was normal for Draco and Hermione to read in silence or to end conversations in seemingly tense spots. They were both very high-strung kids, so they couldn’t allow themselves to take too much personally with each other.

Draco eventually moves on to another Charms book Hermione had, curiously going over each spell he found, wondering what the limits of this magic may be, and Hermione moves to a book on the history of Hogwarts. While Draco was interested on what they could eventually do, it seemed Hermione was interested in what had already been done. He supposes she wants to get a better foothold in this Wizarding World, and so does Draco, but he figures they could always do that later.

“Dumbledore…” Ada says from where she now sits on the ground, avoiding the mess of books everywhere. Draco looks down and sees she’s opened up a chocolate frog. The actual frog seems to be moving around, much to Draco’s surprise, but Ada is currently focused on the little card that had been in the packaging. “That’s your headmaster, right?” she asks, holding out the card to show a picture of an old man with a long beard, pointed hat, and twinkling eyes.

“Yeah. Albus Dumbledore,” Draco nods, leaning forward. Hermione has also begun paying attention to them, listening in very carefully. “Is that a trading card?” At Draco’s question the picture of the old man suddenly moves, looking straight at him, smiling, then winking. Draco quickly jumps back in surprise.

“Whoa!” Ada exclaims, looking at the card herself, then grinning brightly and waving at the picture. Picture-Dumbledore waves back.

“Oh honestly, Draco, why are _you_ surprised? All the diagrams in those Charms books have been moving the whole time,” Hermione says, setting her book in her lap just so she can cross her arms at the boy. Draco scowls at her but feels his face flush. Yes, the diagrams in the Charms books he’d been reading did move, and it was amazing, but they were all drawings and they just kept mimicking the same wand movements over and over again. That picture almost felt alive.

“Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of Dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling,” Ada reads from the back of the card.

“Oh! I read about Grindelwald,” Hermione says excitedly, scrambling to pick up _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ again and begin flipping through it.

“Dragon’s blood…” Draco repeats slowly, his expression beginning to brighten. Were dragons actually real, then? He always loved dragons in myth and fantasy. He would love to meet one.

“Hey!” Both Hermione and Draco look up in surprise to see Ada looking at the front of the card again and pouting. She turns it to show the two, showing the portrait where Dumbledore once stood is now empty. “He’s gone!”

“Maybe he had things to do?” Draco shrugs, smirking despite himself when Ada chucks the chocolate frog’s box at his head.

“Ada, what are you doing in here?” Frederick’s annoying I’m-oldest-and-trying-to-act-like-it voice calls as he enters the living room wearing rubber gloves and a bandana over his head. Cleaning the bathrooms, Draco suspects. “You still have chores to do!”

Ada says nothing and instead opens up another chocolate frog and lets it hop after Frederick, earning a high-pitched shriek as he sprints out of the room.

Eventually, though, Ada does get pulled away to do her chores, but not before she digs out a few more chocolate frog cards and says hello to each portrait. Celestina Warbeck, Ptolemy, Musidora Barkwith, and Hesper Starkey. She gave them all to Draco, since she didn’t much care for collecting them, but kept Dumbledore since his portrait was apparently the friendliest.

Sitting alone with Hermione felt familiar. This was usually how they spent their time, although it normally was at the Granger’s residence instead. It hardly made a difference, though, with how excited they both were.

The silence was intermingled with Hermione occasionally humming in intrigue or telling Draco about a little feature about Hogwarts she found particularly interesting. Draco also occasionally sounded out a spell or two he found could be especially useful, hoping he was pronouncing them right.

“Oh! Houses!” Hermione suddenly exclaims after turning a page and Draco looks up. She was leaning towards the book a bit more than usual, eyes wide and flicking left and right.

“You mean where we’ll be sorted?” Draco questions, “I met another boy going to Hogwarts who told me a little about them, but not much.” The frizzy-haired witch looks up at him and thankfully sorts out what he wants without him needing to say more. She wiggles closer and plops the book down between both their laps so they can both read.

It is the beginning of a new chapter outlining all the houses, their histories, their founders, and their reputations. There’s a picture not too different than the Hogwarts wax seal on their letters, but much more in depth and in color. An “H” is surrounded by four coats of arms. One is blue with a bronze eagle, one is yellow with a black badger, one is red with a gold lion, and one is green with a silver snake. Draco immediately zeroes in on the last one.

“That one,” he says, pointing to the green one, “Which is that one?”

Hermione looks at him with an odd look then flips ahead two pages where an entire spread is dedicated to the green house. “Slytherin,” she reads, “Founded by Salazar Slytherin, Slytherin house values students who are cunning, ambitious, and resourceful most of all.”

Draco reaches out to trace the words with a finger, cutting the girl off and ignoring her unhappy huff. Their colors were green and silver, their element was water, their common room was somewhere in the dungeon, and most importantly their mascot was a serpent. Draco’s eyes widen and he remembers his family vault with the silver snakes and emerald eyes. This… this had to be the house his parents had been in.

He tells Hermione as much and she seems to understand his urgency to read this part. “Do you think you would want to be in Slytherin?” she asks at length as Draco reads more and more about the house.

“I don’t know,” he admits as he discovers Merlin himself had been in Slytherin, “Maybe? It seems like I would like it.”

“Hm, yes, and throwing you in the dungeon certainly sounds like it was fate,” Hermione hums and Draco shoots her a half-hearted glare. She only smiles back at him.

He goes back to reading, getting more and more excited, but grudgingly lets Hermione flip back to the beginning after a few minutes so they can learn about the other houses. “Well, I think I’d rather like Gryffindor,” the witch says, tapping her finger on the red emblem. “They sound like the best.”

“You certainly have the hair for it,” Draco drawls and Hermione smacks his arm, an affronted look on her face. Draco decides not to tell her about the boy he had met at Madam Malkin’s response to Gryffindor. Harry Potter hadn’t seemed to think it was the best, but maybe he was wrong.

“Ravenclaw would be fine, too,” Hermione continues, pointedly looking back at the book while the blonde smirks. “I believe I would find people much more pleasant than you, there.”

“Unless I get in it, too,” Draco grins, then turns to Hufflepuff’s page, eying it curiously. “What about Hufflepuff? You’re friendly, I guess.”

“Well, thank you for that, Draco,” Hermione says sarcastically. She’s rolling her eyes at him and he can’t help but feel like he’s won somehow. “There is nothing wrong with them, but I think my talents are best served elsewhere.”

“They also sound like the mob.”

Silence falls after the blonde’s comment and he looks up curiously to see what may have distracted his friend. Hermione is looking right back at him, the most baffled look on her face he’s ever seen. “What?” he asks hesitantly.

“I’m sorry… the mob?” she sounds confused and maybe even a little worried for Draco’s mental state.

“Well… yeah. Loyalty? Hard work? Dedication?” Draco flaps his hand uselessly at the book, hoping that will somehow get Hermione to understand, but she keeps staring at him oddly. “Like… you know…” suddenly Draco takes on the worst possible Italian accent he could probably muster, trying to mimic mobsters he’d seen on television, “Eh, ‘Mione! You workin’ hard for me? You bein’ loyal? I need some dedicated folks in my employment, you hear me?” It’s so dumb, and he will never admit to doing it, but it manages to get Hermione to cover her mouth to stop her sudden onslaught of giggles.

“Hufflepuff is not a mob, Draco!” she says around her giggles and Draco shrugs, still feeling like he’s won this argument.

“You could be sorted into it, wear that gaudy yellow and black, and be their queen bee, or something. The dreaded Queen Granger, ruler of the mob.” Oh, now Hermione was holding her face in her hands, groaning at him but still giggling like a loon. Yes, Draco feels like he won this one.

.oOo.

The first of September. It was finally the day. Finally, Draco would get to set off on his magical, school adventure, away from his foster family, all on his own. He would get to learn spells and tricks and all kinds of things one could only dream of.

He had been driving his foster family up the wall with it, too. He still did his chores, but it took him longer with his daydreaming. He had learned not to let Tootsie loose in the house early on after Mrs. Nubble had nearly ripped him apart with her furious screeching. He kept leaving a mess of his books everywhere and wouldn’t shut up about every little thing he read.

He was getting on everyone’s nerves, but he didn’t care. He played smart to keep any punishments to a minimum, but he didn’t care if they were happy to see him go or not. He had bigger and better things on the horizon.

He was still rather surprised when all of them woke up with him to give their good-byes that morning, though. Ada had demanded he write to her and send her stuff, and in turn she let him take her CD player with a small album of CDs she’d made on the Nubble’s office computer. Draco didn’t know HOW she’d made the CDs, but he decided he was safer not knowing.

Frederick joked a bit about Draco being the first in the family to leave for school, Draco once again having to bite his tongue on the family comment, and he gave the young boy a book on how to make friends. The eldest’s grin said he thought he was funny, but Draco supposed it could still come in handy and was too touched to comment.

Mr. and Mrs. Nubble didn’t have any major going-away gifts for him, but they did wish him well and told him to write. They wanted to hear about everything, mostly to make sure the school was up to their standards.

Then, with a trunk that once belonged to Mr. Nubble, Draco’s backpack, a duffle bag they dug up from the hall closet, and Tootsie, Draco clambered into the back of Mrs. Nubble’s car and they were off. He waved to his foster family through the back window and thought he saw, for a moment, a black dog on the other end of the street disappear around the corner.

There was so much he wanted to talk about as they drove towards London, so much he wanted to ramble about and express his excitement towards, but in the silence of Mrs. Nubbles car - she didn’t like the radio - Draco found he couldn’t make his mouth work. Instead he sat in the back and watched buildings pass by, his body vibrating with anticipation.

Eventually the car slid to a stop in front of Kings Cross Station and Mrs. Nubble stepped out to help Draco gather his things onto a cart at the front. She patted him down and ran a hand over his slicked back hair, a decision on her part Draco would no doubt be adjusting the second he got away.

“Okay, you have everything?” his foster mother asked. “Trunk?”

“Check,” Draco patted the old trunk.

“Duffle bag?”

“Check.”

“Backpack?”

“Check.”

“Hell beast…”

Draco grins and lifts up Tootsie’s cage, making her hoot loudly. Mrs. Nubble sneers and takes a single step away. “Check!” the blonde boy says cheerfully.

“Ticket?”

Draco digs a letter out of his pocket with a ticket held inside to show it to Mrs. Nubble. At some point in the middle of August an owl had flown through their window during breakfast and dropped a letter on Draco’s plate, promptly terrifying Mrs. Nubble and splattering eggs on Draco’s shirt. It was from McGonagall telling him to go to Kings Cross on the first of September, with the attached ticket, to get on the Hogwarts Express.

“Check!”

Mrs. Nubble nods then steps forward, once again patting Draco down and adjusting his clothes even though he was only wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. Mrs. Nubble didn’t hug, he had learned early on, but rather sought contact. “You are a smart boy, so don’t go and do anything stupid while you’re away,” she says and Draco can’t help but smile a bit up at her. “I have to hurry off to work now, but I trust you can find your way from here?” Draco nods. He was pretty sure he could, anyway. “Good. Good… Be safe, learn as much as you can, and we are all very proud of you.”

It was a surprisingly emotional farewell from the woman, and she must have sensed that as she quickly squares her shoulders, gives Draco one final pat, then climbs back into her car. Draco, feeling oddly touched, gives her an awkward wave through the window then heads up to the station.

Next stop: Platform 9 ¾!

Now… where on earth was that?

Draco had looked at the ticket many times since he had gotten it, trying to sort out where such a platform could be, and couldn’t come up with a proper answer. He figured, however, once he got to the station, he would be able to sort it out on his own, confident in his skills of observation.

Except now he was here, looking back and forth between Platforms 9 and 10 with nothing in between.

It had to be a trick, he decided. He walks between each pillar between the two platforms, but nothing happens. He thinks back to when he went to Diagon Alley and begins tapping stubbornly on bricks against the wall. He was getting odd looks, he knew, not helped by Tootsie’s presence, but he didn’t care. He was getting panicked and covering it up with frustration.

If only Hermione was there. Their brains combined could have figured this out. Or maybe she had already known with her obsessive studies on the history of Hogwarts and all things wizard-y. But both of them had been so wrapped up in getting ready for their own trips the last few days they’d forgotten that going together was an option.

For all Draco knew she was already on the train.

It was a good thing he’d left early…

But how much would that matter when he couldn’t figure out where to go? What if he couldn’t find it? Would he not get to go to Hogwarts? Would his journey end so quickly because he had been too stubborn to ask for help?

A hand on his shoulder nearly makes him jump out of his skin and shriek loud enough to ruffle Tootsie’s feathers. He spins around, ready to chew out whoever just did that, but is greeted by a familiar face.

“Ah, sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you!” says the boy with a smile that looks rather sheepish, “Nice hair, by the way.”

Draco blinks owlishly before his face turns pink and he scrambles to muss up the slicked back, blonde locks. He feels ruffled and surprised as he finally says, “Harry Potter?”

The other boy, with his messy, black hair and bright, green eyes begins to smile, looking particularly pleased. “Draco Malfoy,” he says in reply, bouncing slightly on his toes.

“What are you doing here?” Draco questions before cringing, “Right, Hogwarts.” Harry nods, but when Draco looks at the ground around the other boy he doesn’t see any cart like his own. Where were his things?

“I already got my stuff on the train,” Harry explains when he sees Draco’s look and then he’s looking sheepish again, glancing away and scuffing his feet. “I, uh, actually came back over to see if you were lost.” Draco blinks a few times at the other boy, who takes his silence as confusion and rushes to explain. “Well, see, my mom told me when she had to come here the first time she didn’t know how to get to the platform because she grew up with Muggles too and she only found her way from help and, since you were raised by Muggles, and you didn’t know about wizarding stuff when we met, I just thought… that… I could be your help?”

Draco was still silent, watching the other boy thoughtfully. “Is it normal to want to help people so desperately when you have only met them once?” he can’t help but voice, immediately suspicious. Even within the foster house, being nice usually meant you wanted something. It wasn’t just done out of the goodness of your heart. And people in the wizarding community saw him as famous, so who knew what people would want…

But Harry’s expression of surprise and concern seemed legitimate, much to Draco’s own surprise. “Well… I just thought…” the boy trails off and looks positively miserable, now. It was so pathetic Draco wondered if it could even work on McGonagall.

“Well,” the blonde says after a beat, grudgingly grinding his teeth, “You thought right. I have no earthly idea where I am.”

At the admittance Harry looks up and slowly begins to smile again. “Oh. Oh! Okay, let me show you, then,” and Harry begins to lead Draco over to one of the pillars sitting between Platforms 9 and 10. “All you gotta do,” the bespectacled boy begins, grabbing Draco’s shoulders and squaring them so he and his cart are facing the pillar head on, “is run straight at that.”

“I beg your pardon?” Draco turns startled, disbelieving eyes on the other boy, who shrugs right back.

“It’s true. Here, I’ll go first and wait for you on the other side,” he says with an encouraging smile, a pat to Draco’s shoulder, and then he’s off running. Draco yelps in surprise when, a moment later, the boy seems to phase straight through the wall and disappears. So… that was something.

“Knew it was a trick,” Draco mumbles to himself before gripping his cart handles tightly, taking a deep breath, then running as fast as he can towards the bricks.

It doesn’t feel like he passes through anything, but one moment he’s one place and the next he’s somewhere else. A sign reading “Platform 9 ¾” hangs above him and a red train engine now sits on the tracks. Draco’s eyes widen as he looks around. It feels so much brighter here; more colors, more life. Things buzz overhead that look like they could be toys, people wear all kinds of robes and Muggle clothes, loud calls and chatter fill the air, and-- Draco startles yet again as Harry pops up in front of him, smiling happily at him and congratulating him on getting through.

“How many times are you going to do that?” the blonde questions, referring to Harry’s apparent talent to sneak up on him.

The other boy’s brows rise then he pouts. “I don’t do it on purpose,” he mumbles and Draco rolls his eyes.

“Harry, there you are!” a woman suddenly calls and Lily Potter, Harry’s mother, seems to materialize at her son’s side. Draco wonders if that’s where Harry got his sneaking powers from. “I thought you had gotten everything onto the train already? Did you forget something?”

Harry looks mildly embarrassed, glancing over at Draco like he thinks Draco will judge him for having a fretful mother. He won’t… but it is a little funny. “I didn’t, I just… I wanted to make sure Draco got through alright.” Now Lily’s attention is on him and the blonde straightens up.

“Draco Malfoy, you mean?” comes a voice behind Draco and for the third time today he feels himself startle. He clutches his chest and looks back at James Potter, Harry’s father that looks just like him, who’s grinning like a fool. So maybe Harry learned how to sneak from him, then… “We ran into you at Madam Malkin’s, didn’t we?” he asks, shooting a knowing smirk past Draco’s shoulder.

“Only in passing, sir,” the blonde replies with a nod then glances back to look at Harry, whose tan cheeks are a brilliant shade of ruby. Why did the boy look so embarrassed, now? Was it because of his father, or… “Did… Harry mention me, then?” he asks, sounding as casual as he could, and judging by Harry’s panicked squeak he suspects he got that right.

“Only in passing,” James repeats Draco’s phrase, still grinning, then slips past Draco to plant a kiss on his wife’s cheek. Harry makes a gagging face at the affection while Draco watches curiously. Mr. and Mrs. Nubble were not big on showing affection to each other, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger were very private, so Draco had little experience with couples and public displays of affection. Harry, apparently, had no such issue.

“That’s a cool owl,” the other boy decides to say, pointing to Tootsie who had tucked her head under her wing for a nap.

“I got her after I met you, actually,” Draco replies, reaching a hand through the cage bars to scratch lightly at the owl’s shoulder.

“We must have just missed each other, then,” James speaks up, voice big and boisterous, cutting off whatever Harry was about to say. The young boy takes it in stride, however, and just seems to readjust what he was going to say.

“Y-yeah. Mom and dad got me an owl for my birthday. A snowy owl. Named her Hedwig out of a name I found in one of our school books,” Harry explains, smiling brightly, obviously happy to be talking about his owl.

“Mine was apparently a menace to the store workers,” Draco says, smiling proudly at the bird. “I named her Tootsie.”

“Tootsie?” Harry and James both say at once, both tilting their heads, but Lily’s eyes, so much like her son’s, brighten immediately.

“Oh! Like the Tootsie Pop commercial, yes?” she asks, hands on her knees so she can bend down some and take a look at the owl. Now it’s Draco who brightens.

“Yes! Thank you! I was worried no one else would get that!” Not even Hermione had understood the reference when he’d first mentioned it. At least Ada had laughed… “I… I think I’d like to put my stuff on the train now, though,” Draco admits, flexing his hands on the cart handles.

“Oh! Of course,” Lily straightens up, seeming to have not realized how long they had been talking, while James laughed to himself and Harry stepped forward.

“Are you sure? We’re waiting for some friends of ours, the Weasley family, if you wanted to stick with us for a bit,” Harry asks, fiddling with his hands nervously.

Draco’s brows furrow as he hears the name. Weasley. That sounded familiar. Then all at once he remembers his run in with Arthur Weasley in the Muggles Studies section of Flourish and Blotts and whatever little color Draco has on his face vanishes. Oh, no, he was not getting into another conversation with that blabbermouth any time soon, thank you.

“Uh, thanks for your help, but I really would like to get everything put up,” Draco says, trying to sound normal and ignore Harry’s deflating shoulders.

“Go on, dear,” Lily smiles, “It was very nice meeting you.”

“Again,” James smirks.

“Properly,” Lily corrects, smacking his stomach.

Draco waves at Harry as he slips away, quickly moving towards the train, his sense of excited glee returning the nearer he got. He hands off his ticket without a second thought and clambers in. He doesn’t really care where he sits, the cars are lined with compartments for small groups of students, but Draco wants to first see if he can find his only friend here.

It doesn’t take long. It comes as no surprise Hermione Granger is sitting near the front of the train by one of the exits. She probably wants to be one of the first ones out, Draco suspects, and of course she has her nose buried in a book. This time, however, her wand also sits in her hand.

“Well, hello there, Granger,” Draco drawls as he slides into the compartment. The witch looks up at him and smiles excitedly, moving a stack of books beside her to the floor to make room for Draco.

“Saved you a seat,” she immediately says and Draco nods his thanks then begins slipping his bags up top and out of the way. 

“You’ve begun practicing spells, then?” the blonde questions, grunting as he tries to maneuver the duffle bag into a decent position. It kept wanting to slide off the edge. 

“Yes! I asked permission and was told some practice of small spells was accepted on the train,” Hermione explains, setting down her book for a moment to help Draco with the finicky bag, then sits back down.

“You figure any of them out?” Draco asks, moving to grab Tootsie’s cage and set it up next. Hermione coo’s at the bird sweetly, making the pale wizard roll his eyes.

“I think I may have a few but will require a bit more practice. Would you like me to show you?” she asks the last part with a sudden burst in energy, eyes wide in excitement and big grin showing off her buck teeth. Draco was in too high of a state himself to snark her, either, or turn down her help.

“Definitely,” he nods, kicking his backpack under the seat, “I also have a few spells I saw I wanted to try.” His first thought was the unlocking spell McGonagall had used on Tootsie’s cage. It had been the first spell he’d seen that he’d also caught the words for and he really wanted to try it out.

“Well, let’s see. I’ve tried…” Hermione begins listing off a few minor spells she’s tried, explaining what they were meant to do and how well she’d managed to do them, when Draco began trying to put up his trunk. It was… so heavy, and Draco was far from being the strongest guy on the block. He grunted, stubbornly trying to get it up to the top compartment, but even when Hermione got up to help they couldn’t do it.

They had just dropped it onto their seat and were glaring at it, trying to piece together a plan of action, when a quiet voice spoke from the door. “Hey…” They both look over and see two boys, both rather large and beefy, with small eyes and a mean look to them. One is taller than the other, slightly narrower, but both look like they could be bodyguards or something, not wizards. Draco immediately feels like he’s on the defensive. “Did…” the tall one begins and Draco’s brows furrow at the nervous voice. The tall one glances back at the short one, who nods, then addresses them again. “Did you need some help with that?”

Draco and Hermione are both silent for a long moment, eying the two anxiously. They looked like cliché bullies, like the ones on television or the ones that picked on them at their respective schools. But the tall one had such a quiet voice and the shorter was beginning to fidget…

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Hermione eventually decides for them and moves herself and the blonde out of the way. The two boys lift up the trunk no issue and get it up into the compartment, accidentally jostling Tootsie’s cage a little but not enough to make her too upset. “Thank you…” Hermione says, voice tapering off as if like a question, and the taller boy straightens up. He was… quite tall. Was he an older student?

“Goyle. Uh, I mean, _Greg_ Goyle,” he introduces himself then motions back to the shorter of the pair, who gives a small wave but says nothing. “He’s Vincent. Vincent _Crabbe,_ uh…” Did these guys not usually introduce themselves, or something? Mrs. Nubble would be appalled, Draco imagines. “Are you… you guys first years, too?”

Draco’s brows rise at that. Too? These guys couldn’t possibly be first years. Could they? They were so big! But… the nervousness might be because they were new and he supposes they could just come from bigger boned families, or something.

“Oh, yes! We are,” Hermione says brightly and, oh no. Draco knew that look. She had a very kind yet stubborn look to her face as she looked at the two boys. He looked at her and tried to mentally will her not to do whatever she was about to do. “My name is Hermione Granger,” she says and Draco’s silver eyes narrow into a glare. Could you magically push your thoughts into someone else’s head? He really hoped so! But then the witch is motioning to the bench across from them in the compartment and was smiling sweetly. “Would you like to join us?”

Dang it.

“You… wouldn’t mind?” the tall one, Greg, questions. Both he and Vincent look surprised. Draco tries to mentally tell Hermione that they do mind and she needs to stop talking now.

“Of course not,” Hermione says cheerfully. If she can hear Draco’s thoughts, she is ignoring them, and honestly, he wouldn’t put it past her.

The two seem pretty happy by this development and hurry off to retrieve some of their things from wherever they were previously. When they’re gone Hermione takes her seat and Draco, grudgingly, sits beside her. “Maybe the door has a lock,” he says, glaring at said door.

“We aren’t going to lock them out, Draco,” Hermione says primly, head held high, and Draco turns his glare to her. He didn’t want to start meeting people, yet. He had been hoping just to sit with Hermione and go over spells, but instead she had to go and be… _nice_.

“You can’t adopt every stray you see, you know,” he hisses and she looks unaffected, simply pulling out her book once more.

“Why not? I did with you,” she replies and Draco’s mouth falls open, eyes bugging out.

“I’m not going to lie,” he says slowly and his friend finally looks over to him, “That was a bloody good come back. Have I ruined you, or something?”

“Don’t take all the credit, now,” Hermione grins, looking rightly proud of herself, but before their snark-fest can continue the two boys, Greg and Vincent, return and sit down. Both have a single bag they carry, Draco suspects their trunks are back where they put them originally, and Vincent has a tote of what looks like food that he sets between himself and Greg on the seat.

“Thanks for letting us sit with you,” Greg says, already sounding a bit less nervous, but there’s still a warble to his voice that gives him away. Vincent nods in agreement, smiling. With his general chubbiness the smile actually makes him look a bit less threatening.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Draco questions Vincent rather bluntly, making the shorter one look at him with a startled expression. The expression then turns panicked and he looks to Greg as if to ask him something. What, did he need the taller one’s permission?

“Vince… he, uh,” Greg starts, back to sounding entirely nervous, “He doesn’t talk…”

Draco arches a brow at that, surprised. “Mute?” he asks, but Vincent shakes his head.

“Nonverbal?” Hermione asks with a snap of her fingers, like she just remembered the term, and Vincent looks surprised, but happily so. He then smiles at her, a bit brighter, and nods. When Draco looks at her with a confused expression on his face she launches into an explanation. “It means he has the physical capability of speech, but is unable to talk for a multitude of reasons.”

Draco nods slowly then looks back at Vincent, curious what this reason for not speaking could be, but not even he’s that blunt. “How DO you talk, then?” he asks and Vincent immediately raises his pudgy hands and makes a series of complex movements.

“Oh! Sign language! I’ve always wanted to learn,” Hermione immediately says, leaning forward and near demanding they teach her some signs. Draco leans back and silently watches, brows furrowed curiously, listening but not commenting. Greg and Vincent seem pleasantly surprised by Hermione’s desire to learn, Greg talking her through the alphabet as Vincent does the signs for each letter. Draco wonders if Vincent will even be able to do some of the spells they’ll learn if he can’t say them out loud… McGonagall had done her chair-ostrich trick without a word, after all, so maybe it wasn’t as big a deal?

“Hey… so…” Greg suddenly cuts into Draco’s thoughts, looking nervously at the blonde. The impromptu lesson must have ended because Hermione is leaning back in her seat again. Greg glances at Vincent, who signs something quickly and nudges his shoulder, then looks back at Draco. “Are… Are you really…? I mean, the whole train was whispering about it a bit ago…”

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” he decides to take pity on him, his voice calm but his insides coiling up. Were they going to freak out or be cool? He didn’t know.

Vincent is the one to lean forward, looking excited, and pats at his own chest. “Uh, yeah! So… everyone says you must have a scar, right?” Greg interprets, his own, dark eyes sparkling with poorly hid excitement.

“I’d like to know who this ‘everyone’ is,” Hermione mumbles, never having been a fan of useless gossip.

“I do,” Draco replies and pulls down the collar of his tee enough to show the majority of his scar. It really was a cool scar, at least he could agree with everyone on that.

Both large boys’ eyes widen in wonder and Vincent’s jaw falls open. “Whoa,” Greg whispers, except his whisper is quite loud, and Draco pulls his shirt back up, adjusting it.

There’s not much else to say after that, it seems, which Draco is grateful for. The boys simply wanted to know who he was and see his scar, and that was fine by him. Hermione jumps into a proper conversation about the spells she’s been working on and Draco pulls out his wand to try and mimic some of them. Greg and Vincent join in eventually, neither getting remotely close to getting a result like Hermione had, they didn’t appear to be particularly clever, but Draco manages to pull off a decent Mending Charm on a torn parchment and a half-decent Softening Charm on the benches.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the train begins to pull out of the station. The four of them watch as the platform moves by, Greg and Vincent waving at a man and woman Draco assumes to be parents to one of them. Or both? They did have different family names, though.

As the train begins to pick up speed Hermione pulls out another book. Draco hardly sees what it might be when he remembers he had wanted to check something out while they were in the train. He pulls up his backpack and then removes Ada’s CD player and the album of CDs. Greg and Vincent watch, transfixed, mouths stuffed with some kind of biscuits.

“When did you get a CD player?” Hermione questions, eying the silver device thoughtfully.

“Ada gave me hers. I wanted to see what kinds of CDs she made,” he explains then opens up the album. They’re each labelled with sharpie, it appears. There’s a bunch of party CDs, a CD labelled “study time” that he’s wary of, a handful called “classics,” and two for relaxing. None have a list of songs, much to his annoyance, but then, on the very last page, he finds one of the chocolate frog trading cards crammed into the CD slot on top of a disk labelled, “You’re Welcome.”

He eyes the card and finds a stern-looking man with a dark, scraggly beard and slicked hair looking up at him. The portrait blinks slowly, looking like a smart and powerful person. Underneath the portrait reads the name, “Grigori Rasputin,” and Draco knows immediately what’s on the CD.

He sighs, but he must enjoy pain because he takes out the CD and puts it into the player then slips the thin headphones onto his ears. Sure enough a very familiar, upbeat drum kicks up, shortly followed by clapping and some kind of fast-paced strings. Draco lowers his face into his palms and groans deeply.

“What is it? What song is it?” Hermione questions. Oh, the violins were playing now.

Rather than answer her, however, Draco simply looks her dead in the eye, sets the headphones between them, and turns the volume all the way up so they can both hear the familiar song. _“There was a certain man. In Russia long ago,”_ the singing begins and Hermione leans away. Greg and Vincent both look amazed.

“No! Turn it off! I am not having that stuck in my head, you hear me?” Hermione demands, but Draco moves the CD player out of her reach before she can snatch it. He’s grinning now, the song going on. “Malfoy, I’m serious, stop it!”

He doesn’t listen. He may have the song stuck in his head now, too, but he’s not going alone. He starts swaying his head to the music and the moment the chorus comes on he’s singing along, “Ra-Ra-Rasputin! Lover of the Russian Queen. There was a cat that really was gone.”

He didn’t get to sing much else because Hermione had taken her book and smacked his arm with it hard enough to make him shriek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, very fun chapter to write, and we finally are seeing some more of the differences in this universe! Hope you all enjoyed it and have a wonderful day!
> 
> Chapter Song: [Rasputin - Boney M](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvDMlk3kSYg)


	5. Making Friends is Complicated

For a while after the train had started moving Draco had been listening to the CD player. It seemed the CD he’d first tried out was full of earworms, songs that immediately wanted to get stuck in Draco’s head, so he didn’t much mind when Vincent and Greg asked if they could see the Muggle device. Hermione set her book down long enough to help guide them through the buttons, explaining their purposes and how the CD player worked. The two wizards seemed awed as they took turns wearing the headphones.

With Vincent and Greg properly distracted Hermione and Draco began going over some of their other books and talking about their plans for school. Hermione was excited to see everything she had read about in _Hogwarts, A History_ while Draco really wanted to start experimenting with both his magic and potions. Draco had quickly begun wondering what the limitations of magic may be, beyond just Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration, and he couldn’t wait to test said limitations.

Eventually a trolley came by with loads of candies Draco only partially recognized from his short trip to Diagon Alley’s Sweet Shop. He didn’t know where to begin as he looked over the options, having not tried anything but a bite of a chocolate frog Ada had offered him, and he was nervous to try Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans after his foster sister had discovered a dung-flavored one.

He eventually settled on a sugar quill, thinking it looked like a lollipop, and Hermione asked to grab her a licorice wand. Then Vincent and Greg were maneuvering him back into the compartment so they could swarm the trolley themselves, CD player forgotten, and Draco arched his brows when they returned with armfuls of sweets. 

Hermione hissed something about cavities and Draco warned her she was sounding like her parents.

Things were going pretty well, Vincent and Greg quiet as they ate, even offering pieces of some of the food Draco and Hermione had not tried, while the latter two continued their talk about what they hoped to accomplish during their school year. The two, large wizards had been an unexpected addition, but all in all Draco felt very content and excited. He didn’t even get agitated when Hermione bullied the three boys into their robes early, wanting them to be ready to arrive no matter how far out they may still be.

And then they met Neville Longbottom.

Draco had been in the middle of explaining why he thought Latin was so prominent in the spell work they’d looked at when a tap at the compartment door drew their attention and a chubby, but far from mean-looking, boy poked his pink face in. He looked right upset, not crying but certainly panicked, and he looked around the group. He shrank slightly away from Vincent and Greg at the sight of them, even though Vincent offered a small wave.

“Have… Have any of you seen a toad? His name’s Trevor. I had him a minute ago but now he’s gone,” he says, voice wobbly and nervous.

“You lost your toad?” Hermione says, obviously sympathetic for the boy.

“We haven’t seen him,” Draco quickly adds, eying the bushy-haired girl suspiciously. No, she had that look in her eyes again, the same one she’d had when they’d met Vincent and Greg.

The boy groaned miserably, frantically glancing back and forth down the corridor. “My uncle gave me that toad! Mum and dad are going to be so disappointed.”

“Not if we find him!” Hermione cuts in, standing up quickly, a fire in her eyes and Draco groans. He catches Greg’s confused gaze and shakes his head. He couldn’t believe this was already happening again. “We’ll help you look. Won’t we, boys?” At Hermione’s intense gaze Vincent and Greg nodded, wide-eyed and startled.

“Do we have a choice?” Draco mumbles.

“No,” Hermione immediately responds, nose up high, “Grab your backpack, Draco, we can put Trevor inside if we find him.”

“Yes, Queen Granger, protector of misfits,” he grumbles sarcastically, snatching his backpack and making room in one of its larger pockets for something toad-sized. Hermione is already taking over the search, he sees, telling Vincent and Greg to go one way down the corridor and look and then saying she and Draco will accompany the boy down the other direction. She apparently doesn’t hear the boy say he already went down the way Hermione wants to go, or maybe she ignores him, and off they go.

The students in the compartments they visit all seem confused by the apparent return of the nervous boy, but most seem kind enough. Some get agitated, but most simply shake their heads and wish them good luck.

Draco can feel his patience thinning the more they walk. He had been enjoying himself, sitting around and talking, and now he was being dragged around by his best friend because she couldn’t leave well enough alone. Things did get a bit more interesting, however, when a compartment near the back opens up and Draco sees a now familiar mop of black hair.

Harry Potter blinks at the trio in surprise. He’s surrounded by an absurd amount of sweets, making a right mess of the place, and sitting on the bench across from him is a boy about their age with a shock of bright, red hair and freckles. The redhead doesn’t look particularly happy, telling Hermione that they had already talked to the boy with the missing toad earlier. It immediately made Hermione puff out her chest and straighten her shoulders.

Draco rolls his eyes as she gets haughty with the boy, exchanging a look with the chubby boy at his side who still looks upset, but by now has grown alarmed by Hermione in general. He almost feels bad for him.

“You should put on your robes, by the way,” Hermione eventually sniffs, arms crossed, “We should be stopping soon.” Draco looks over her shoulder and catches Harry’s eye and shakes his head in disbelief. Harry seems to think it’s rather funny and smiles.

Then Hermione is turning away, ready to continue the search, and Draco glances at the compartment, seeing an opportunity. “I’m actually going to stay here,” he says and his friend looks back at him with narrowed eyes. Draco shrugs, keeping his cool. “I met Harry a few times before. I just want to catch up with him, if that is quite alright with you.”

Hermione huffs, obviously not happy Draco is “abandoning” their mission, but not going to demand he not interact with other children. So he smiles the fakest smile he can and slips into the compartment, shutting the door, and releasing a deep breath. Hermione might be his best, only friend, but she could be too much sometimes.

“Friend of yours?” Harry asks behind him and he turns around, facing the two boys. Harry is still smiling, but seems slightly anxious, while the redhead is looking at Draco funny. The blonde can’t place exactly what the expression is.

“For years now,” he nods, taking a seat beside Harry after he moves some of the sweets and their wrappers to the side.

“I’m so sorry,” the redhead says and Draco snorts.

“She’s not that bad,” he replies, but pauses and nods a few times at him, “But yeah… thanks.”

“Is she always so…” Harry trails off, glancing at the compartment door as if expecting the girl to reappear.

“Crazy?” Draco supplies with an arched brow.

“I was going to say intense…”

“Basically,” the blonde shrugs, “Thanks for letting me use you as my get away.”

Harry smiles brightly at that, his nerves seeming to vanish, and Draco smirks back before giving a pointed look at all the candy everywhere and arching a brow. Harry’s cheeks turn slightly pink and he glances over at the redhead.

“What?” said redhead barks, partially defensive but not putting much heat into it, “We never get to have this many treats at home.” Harry smiles at him and Draco’s arched brow only goes higher. He supposed he shouldn’t judge. After all, he hadn’t said anything to Vincent and Greg when they had gotten so much.

They lapse into an awkward silence after that, much to Draco’s discomfort, and the blonde shifts in his seat while the other two boys keep glancing at each other, seeming to be having some silent conversation with their eyes. They obviously knew each other, and for a while if Draco were to guess, and he felt very out of place now that he didn’t have Hermione with him. Maybe he shouldn’t have left her, even if she was being a pain…

“So…” begins the redhead and Draco’s silver eyes lock onto him. He squirms slightly then nods, making up his mind over something. “I’m Ron Weasley.”

Ron Weasley doesn’t extend his hand to shake, but he seems to be trying to behave himself, and Draco tilts his head curiously. “Weasley?” he questions, then glances at Harry, “You were waiting for him and his family, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees as he idly picks up a Pumpkin Pasty and starts trying to open the wrapping.

“I think I met your father,” Draco now turns to Ron, deciding he’ll be safe from having to talk to Arthur Weasley now that he’s on the train. “I was getting my books for school and he was in the Muggle section. Arthur, right?”

Understanding dawns on Ron’s face and he releases a long sigh, sounding defeated. “Yeah, that was him. He’s so obsessed with anything Muggle it can make it hard to deal with him, sometimes.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to wait with me earlier?” Harry questions, one cheek extended from a bite of food in his mouth and a few crumbs falling out. He quickly tries to swallow, though, and offers an apologetic look for his manners.

“Well…” Draco glances at Ron before sighing deeply. “Yeah, a bit. I also wanted to find Hermione.”

“Is that that girl’s name?” Harry asks, motioning with his head towards the closed compartment door and Draco nods at him.

Something in the redhead seems to finally snap, however, and their seemingly good conversation quickly divebombs as Ron leans forward, an urgent look in his blue eyes, and questions lowly, “So is it true? Are you Draco Malfoy?”

The blonde stiffens at the way the other boy asks it, defenses flying up with a snap, and his eyes thin. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad? Vincent and Greg had been cool, and most of the adults had been nice as well… Maybe the incident at the Leaky Cauldron, and a few of the run ins at Diagon Alley, had been random encounters. “You don’t have to whisper. Just talk normally,” he says, digging up his confident expression as best he could and keeping his voice steady, with only a touch of annoyance.

“Right, well,” Ron straightens up and his eyes thin. At least he isn’t whispering now. “You look the part, and Harry said he’d met you.”

“Yes, I’m Draco Malfoy,” he replies. He wasn’t a fan of the redhead’s tone, but he couldn’t exactly place why, yet. It was unnerving. “Here, this is my scar,” he pulls down his shirt like he’d done so many times before, expecting the other boy would ask eventually, and Ron gasps, mouth hanging open. Harry is smiling.

“See? Cool looking, right?” Harry says to his friend and Ron nods like he’s mesmerized, eyes bugged out while he stares at the lightning scar. Draco can’t help the blush on his face and he pushes the shirt collar back up.

“How’d you do it, though?” Ron whispers, eyes finally looking up from Draco’s chest to the boy’s suspicious, silver eyes. When Draco doesn’t answer and instead tilts his head in question, Ron clears his throat and tries again, voice louder. “How’d you get rid of… You-Know-Who?” He has a weird tone to his voice, curious but suspicious, and Draco really doesn’t understand why anyone would be suspicious over this.

“Voldemort, you mean?” Draco says blandly and both boys flinch like they’d been startled. They probably had. “I was just an infant, I haven’t the slightest,” he continues, forcing his voice to be calm and conversational. “But he’s dead and gone now, so who really cares, right?”

Harry and Ron look to each other, having their silent conversation again, before Ron’s lips thin and Harry nods shakily. “Right…” the black-haired wizard says, looking up at Draco with sad, apologetic eyes.

They lapse into another awkward silence, this time even more tense than before, and slowly more sweets are opened to nibble on. Harry offers Draco a few Pumpkin Pasties and a bite of Treacle Tart, and Ron quietly munches on Chocolate Frogs. Draco hated it. He should have stayed with Hermione.

The silence is finally broken as Ron pulls out a card from his Chocolate Frog box and shows it to Harry, speaking with a mouth full of food. “You needed Dymphna Furmage, right?” he says and Harry looks up, brows rising.

“Yeah, I do,” the boy says and Draco looks between the two as Harry hops up to pull a small box from his things. When he opens it there are piles of Chocolate Frog cards sitting inside and Draco’s expression slackens in surprise. Right, these were meant to be collected, weren’t they?

“Do you collect, Draco?” The blonde looks up at Harry to see the other boy has spotted him staring. He looks expectant and excited, and when Draco looks over at Ron he sees the redhead has a similar, curious expression.

Draco really wasn’t all that interested in collecting the cards. He thought the information on them was cool to read and he liked knowing about famous individuals of the Wizarding World, but he doubted he’d ever have a collection like the one in Harry’s lap, or the one Ron was sure to have.

“I’m not… exactly planning on going out of my way to collect them, no,” Draco admits but backtracks when he sees both boys begin to deflate. “But I do have a few. I got some Chocolate Frogs for my foster sister and she gave me the cards.” Maybe he wouldn’t mind every now and again adding a card or two to his measly bundle whenever they were available, he doesn’t see why that wouldn’t be an issue, and it would give the three of them something to talk about so they stop falling into such tense silences.

“Great! I have a bunch except for Ptolemy and Mirabella Plunkett,” Ron says brightly before turning an accusatory glare on Harry, who pointedly looks out the window. “It WOULD have been Ptolemy and Agrippa if Harry hadn’t messed me up with a bad trade.”

“I gave you Agrippa,” Harry pouts at his friend, fingers tapping on his box of cards.

“Yeah, and took Plunkett,” Ron argues right back, waving the card he has in his hand at Harry’s face.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t know you only had one,” Harry shrugs, sounding very nonchalant. When his green eyes catch Draco’s there is a mischievous glow to them that surprises the pale boy.

“I have Ptolemy,” Draco cuts in, sounding cheerful, and Ron looks over at him immediately. Draco then picks up his backpack, which he’d only brought along originally to help out Hermione on her toad hunt, and pulls out a couple of cards held together by a rubber band. He undoes the band and shows Ron his Ptolemy card. The portrait is also currently occupied by said wizard, who is looking at Ron skeptically, like he isn’t a fan of being traded.

Ron immediately holds out the card he’s been waving around for a while, grin in place. “Do you have Furmage? I’ll trade you her,” he says eagerly.

“Hey! I needed Furmage,” Harry protests, but Ron and Draco have already exchanged the two cards and the redhead is grinning at his friend.

“Should have thought of that before you took my Agrippa,” he sing-songs, in much better spirits now, and Draco looks down at the portrait of a rather frightened looking Dymphna Furmage. He then looks over at Harry, who is pouting, and holds out the card.

“Trade you for any doubles you have,” he says innocently, ignoring Ron’s cry of betrayal while Harry immediately brightens with a wicked grin.

.oOo.

As it turns out the train is, in fact, nearing its destination not long after that and Harry and Ron scramble to throw on their robes. They look messy from the rush and Draco helps adjust Harry’s clasp and Ron’s collar. While Frederick, Ada, and Draco had no fancy clothes, it was still incredibly important in their household to always look presentable.

Draco tells them he’ll meet up with them later and rushes out, hurrying back to his own compartment to get his things. Vincent and Greg are just leaving as he gets there, smiling in greeting just as Hermione also makes her appearance, looking partially defeated for having not found Trevor, but mostly excited for finally seeing their school.

An announcement sounds through the train, then, as Draco is stretching to get down his things, that they should leave their possessions onboard and they will be taken up to the school later. Draco pouts at that, having rushed all the way back here to get his things, but doesn’t let his mood sour too much as he’s dragged out of the compartment by his best friend.

They step off the train, some of the first off thanks to Hermione rushing them along, and immediately are swarmed by students of all ages, pushing them around to get where they need to be. For a moment Draco is overwhelmed, looking around frantically and not knowing where to go, but then Hermione is grabbing his wrist and dragging them to what appears to be a small gathering of first years. Vincent and Greg end up joining them as well, standing right behind them, and a familiar, chubby boy stands to Hermione’s side, looking downtrodden.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find your toad, Neville,” the young witch tells the boy. Neville sniffs once, but thankfully doesn’t begin to cry. Draco doesn’t do well around crying.

“It’ll be okay…” Neville mumbles, obviously not okay, but trying to put on some kind of brave face. Draco can respect that. He may not see the purpose of a toad as a pet, but he supposes it really isn’t his opinion that matters here.

“Maybe… Someone will still find him?” Draco offers slowly, shrugging a shoulder and looking awkward. “I mean… Someone has to clean the train, right?”

“Oh, yes!” Hermione pipes up, her expression brightening up and she nods so vigorously at Neville her hair flies around and smacks Vincent in the face. Draco thinks the boy’s surprised expression as he spits out curly hair is rather hilarious. “There is still hope!”

Before more can be said a big, booming voice calls out over the sea of students, “Firs’ years, this way!” Draco glances up to see who is talking and immediately spots a massive man that seems to be covered in… hair? Fur? It is hard to tell in the dark, even with all the lanterns everywhere. Was this man a wild man of sorts? A sasquatch? A yeti? “Gather ‘round, now!” he’s still calling and the crowd of first years begin bustling towards the giant man.

A bump to Draco’s shoulder has him glancing over to his left, eyes still wide from the sight of the giant man, and finds Harry smiling in greeting, Ron just behind him. The redhead looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“First time seeing Hagrid, huh?” Ron questions and Draco has no idea what a Hagrid is.

“That’s Hagrid,” Harry offers, pointing up at the giant man at the front of the group. The man must spot the movement for his beard (fur?) twitches upward like a smile and he waves at Harry in greeting, asking how he is.

During the quick exchange Ron leans behind Harry and stage whispers, “Hagrid and Harry’s parents have known each other for ages. I’ve never met him, but he always seemed pretty nice. Plus--” Draco doesn’t get to hear what “plus” is because suddenly there is movement behind him and Greg is shooting off to the side like a rocket. The entire group of young students falls silent as the large boy lands on the ground, crouching and hands together, then stands up hastily. His short hair and robes are covered with dirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he turns around, something clutched between his hands. A few kids off to the side - a tall, skinny boy and a short, fat girl - snicker, and Draco’s eyes thin at them.

But then Neville is springing towards Greg with an excited, “Trevor!” coming from his mouth. It seems the toad had been trying to use the crowd as a cover to escape and Greg had spotted him. The larger wizard smiles brightly as he hands over the toad, Neville thanking him profusely and squeezing Trevor tightly to his chest.

Hagrid seems startled, judging by the fact Draco can actually see his wide, dark eyes now, but then he’s scratching his chin and saying, “Right, well, if we’re all set… Got yer toad?” Neville nods, Greg rejoining Vincent’s side and grinning with pride, and Hagrid nods. “Good. Let’s be off, then.”

They are led down a thin path that Draco can hardly see because of the dark until they come to a series of boats on the edge of a lake. Hermione announces that she has read about this, that first years enter Hogwarts with boats on the Black Lake while everyone else uses carriages. It earns her a few odd looks from the students around her, her voice hard to ignore, and Draco suppresses a laugh when Ron scowls and Neville looks panicked at her.

The boats are four each, with Hagrid taking up one for himself, and Draco ends up with Hermione, Harry, and Ron. He’s surprised Vincent and Greg hadn’t hopped in their boat first, what with how they have been following them around like lost puppies, but when Neville nearly loses Trevor while trying to trip into a boat the two go over to assist him, joined last by a girl with blonde, curly hair.

For a moment Ron and Hermione bicker about who gets to sit in the front. Hermione wins, of course, and Draco shoots the redhead an amused but reserved smile. “I could have warned you that would happen.”

“Yet you didn’t,” Ron bites back, pouting as he sits behind the bushy-haired girl, grumbling about being unable to see around her hair and her attitude. Hermione ignores him. Harry hushes him. Draco kicks him.

Once every student has found a seat in the boats Draco only has a few moments to realize there is no way to steer or paddle before they are moving. The blonde looks around in shock as all the boats begin drifting over the water on their own, lanterns swishing on their fronts and creating wobbly, glowing reflections on the water. Draco glances over the side of his boat, watching the dark water ripple, the stars twinkling overhead, and he can’t help the urge to reach out and skim his fingers over the water.

Then they see Hogwarts.

Gasps travel over the group of students, echoed off the water, as the _castle_ that is Hogwarts comes into view. Draco had known it would be a castle, mostly thanks to Hermione, but to actually see it takes his breath away. The stone walls arch high over the lake, towers scratching at the sky, and lights dance in the windows in such a way it feels like a living creature with hundreds of eyes looking back at them.

The boat sways when Hermione does an excited little jig in her seat and Draco hisses at her to quit it, but his heart isn’t really in it, his eyes glued to what will now be his home for the majority of the year. He had never felt happier in his life.

They keep moving closer to the massive structure until the boats are rolling underneath the castle to a hidden dock where they all clamber out, a new excitement rolling through the group. “Alrigh’, calm down the lot o’ yeh,” Hagrid collects their attention, but he seems mostly amused by the young witches and wizards and their boundless energy. He leads them up to a large door that creaks when he pulls it open to reveal Professor McGonagall in all her stern, composed glory. “Here’s the firs’ years for yeh, Professor,” Hagrid says, his chest puffed out, and the woman nods once at him.

“Thank you, Hagrid. That will be all,” she says then takes over for the group, leading them inside. Vincent, Greg, and Neville manage to find their way back over to Draco, but Hermione has rushed ahead to stand at the front of the group while Harry and Ron have fallen back. Draco attempts to catch McGonagall’s attention to greet her, like Harry had done with Hagrid earlier, but she seems too set on the task at hand. Plus, she’s probably too professional for that.

They eventually come to a halt before an even larger set of doors with tall, stone walls and multiple corridors leading elsewhere all around them. McGonagall turns back to the group to address them properly.

“Welcome students,” she says, hands clasped in front of her. “In just a moment we will be beginning the start-of-term feast, but prior to this we must have your sorting ceremony.” Straight to business, it seemed. Draco wasn’t surprised. She didn’t seem the type to mince words, after all.

After hearing so much from Hermione about what to expect from her intensive reading Draco didn’t feel too bad zoning out for a moment and looking around. Hermione was hanging off every word from the professor’s mouth while Neville looked oddly nervous, still clutching his toad. Vincent and Greg look like they are trying to listen, but aren’t paying the closest attention. A few paces to the side the tall boy and fat girl that had snickered at Greg are joined by a lanky girl with short, black hair and sharp eyes, her expression somehow both glued to McGonagall while also flicking around the room. A tall boy with dark skin and closely shaved, black hair stands off to the other side, looking to be trying to avoid everyone, his arms crossed and expression closed off. Harry and Ron are in the back, paying close attention to McGonagall like they are being briefed on a mission.

Then, apparently done with her announcements, McGonagall is telling them to wait here while she disappears into what Draco realizes to be the Great Hall. Whispers quickly pick up amongst the students and Draco manages to wiggle through to Hermione, who thankfully meets him halfway.

“I’m so excited! Aren’t you excited? Because I’m excited!” the girl bounces around and Draco smirks.

“Hey, Hermione, I can’t tell, are you excited?” he snarks and she smacks lightly at his arm. “You still vouching for Gryffindor?” he asks and she only grins bigger.

“I believe so,” she nods, glancing back at the large doors like they’ll open for them right then. “Are you still hoping for Slytherin?” she asks, looking back at him.

“I never actually said that was what I wanted,” he says carefully, “Just that it sounded fitting.” He ducks his head, thinking not for the first time which house sounded best to him. Slytherin did sound like him, but if Hermione got her wish would that mean they would be in different houses? Plus… this was the house Voldemort had been in. Sure, so had Merlin, but part of Draco felt rather uncomfortable imagining being in the same house as the man who had killed his parents.

“ _Slytherin?_ ” the tone of shocked disgust has both Draco and Hermione turning around to see Ron and Harry approaching them. Judging by the anxious look on Harry’s face and the horrified look on Ron’s Draco has to guess it is the redhead who spoke.

“Yes?” Hermione says slowly and her eyes are thinning, her shoulders squaring as she moves to Draco’s side, “What about it?”

Draco watches as Ron’s face morphs multiple times, all expressions looking rather ugly and mean without any trace of humor, while Harry’s face slowly changes to one of mounting panic as he glances between his friend, Draco, and Hermione. “It’s really not a big deal,” Harry tries to say, but Ron won’t have any of it.

“You do NOT want to be in Slytherin, mate,” Ron says, stepping towards Draco. What? Was he trying to protect him, or something? “That place is full of the worst sort. You-Know-Who was in Slytherin!”

“I’m aware,” Draco snaps, feeling his hackles rise as he realizes where this conversation is going. The books that had mentioned the houses in Hogwarts had also mentioned that each had a particular reputation in the Wizarding World. Most had seemed to skid around Slytherin’s, but they hadn’t felt particularly… positive.

“Then why would you want to be in there?” Ron demands, looking shocked, but something like realization was mounting in his blue eyes. Draco didn’t understand why.

“Because I am ambitious, resourceful, and cunning. Why else?” the blonde snaps, but then tries to pull himself together and reign in his anger. He straightens his back and eyes Ron down coolly, “Well… that and I look spectacular in green.”

Hermione sighs at his side and Harry snorts, despite still looking very upset at this whole thing. Ron is looking disgusted again before he’s huffing and shaking his head, resigned to some unknown fate. Draco is getting very irritated at not being able to understand the boy and his expressions. “Alright, what is this garbage about, Weasley? Spit it out,” he says harsher than he intended, but not caring all that much.

“All you’re doing is proving them right,” Ron says and Harry stiffens, panic on his face somehow getting worse as he turns to his friend to try and get him to stop. Ron shakes his head. “What? It’s true! Joining Slytherin? He’d just be proving he defeated You-Know-Who because he was competition.”

“Those are baseless, fearmongering rumors,” Hermione snaps, stepping forward, eyes blazing, and Draco would feel honored to have her protection if his ears weren’t suddenly ringing.

People thought he had killed Voldemort because he had seen him as some form of competition? For what? Being some dark, evil wizard? That… oh… that explained Ron’s suspicious, defensive attitude when they had first met on the train. Did other people really think that about him, though? He was a baby, for goodness sake, how could something like this even be considered gossip, least of all factual?

Draco hardly even notices Hermione and Ron arguing, his shocked expression glued to the floor, but then someone taps his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. Harry stands beside him now, taking Hermione’s spot, and looks horribly apologetic.

“I’m really sorry,” the other boy says quietly, fidgeting with his hands. “I think Ron’s trying to help you,” Draco can’t help but snort and Harry’s green eyes widen in panic, “Honest! He just… he doesn’t have the best tact…”

“Understatement,” Draco mumbles, trying desperately to dig his mind out of the downward spiral it was quickly taking. His eyes flick to the redhead, who is turning red-faced as Hermione tears him a new one. “He… he sees things in black and white a lot, I reckon?” Mrs. Nubble said, often, that the law may see a lot of things in black and white, but people just weren’t like that in reality. It had always been one of her less liked facts about being a lawyer.

“Yeah… Suppose he does,” Harry nods, also glancing at his friend. “Still, I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Not your fault,” Draco tries to shrug, but he probably looks too casual.

“If you want to be in Slytherin… I don’t think it’d be bad,” Harry offers. He still looks anxious, like an animal backed into a corner, but it is at the expense of his best friend and Draco. It is strangely touching, so Draco attempts to make his voice come out steady.

“Thank you,” he nods, and Harry releases a breath. “Hermione wants to be in Gryffindor, too, you know,” he says, hoping to talk about something even just slightly different. He doesn’t miss how Harry stiffens, however. “If I get into Slytherin could you make sure she doesn’t work herself into a wreck? She’s positively useless without me.”

Harry either doesn’t get Draco is trying to lighten the mood, or Draco has simply failed at the attempt, because he looks away, adjusts his glasses, and starts fidgeting again. “Sure,” Harry mumbles and Draco’s silver eyes thin. He really wanted to know what was up with Harry’s reactions to any mention of his own sorting. It seemed very specific, but not immediately detrimental to Draco, unlike Ron’s previously unnerving expressions.

Draco doesn’t get a chance to start asking questions, however, because suddenly someone screams and in pours a hoard of translucent people, floating through the walls and looking down on the group of first years and offering greetings. Even Ron and Hermione stop arguing to look up at them all.

Ghosts. They had to be ghosts. Draco isn’t sure what else they could be.

Quickly the ghosts float closer and begin chatting with them. Some of the students seem wary, inching away, but some seem perfectly at home with the spirits. Spirits of _dead people_ , Draco wants to remind them, eyes tracking one very stern ghost that… oh god, is he covered in blood?

Draco turns to Hermione, hoping to use her as a distraction, but she had already abandoned Ron and is talking instead to a tall female ghost, eagerly asking question after question, much to the ghost’s apparent amusement. Draco sees a rather fat ghost tell them he’d love to see them sorted into Hufflepuff, then hears another ghost get called Nearly Headless Nick. Draco looks over just in time to see that ghost pull his head off sideways like it is on a hinge.

Draco quickly turns away, wide-eyed and very nauseous, and Harry carefully pats his back as if to help with how green Draco surely looks.

It is then that Ron reappears at Draco’s side, face turned away and arms crossed, and Draco’s shoulders tense. Crap, Hermione wasn’t with him now. He could really use her fiery spirit to ward off this boy…

But then the redhead is sighing deeply and saying, just loud enough to be heard over the crowd, “Sorry about all that.” Draco blinks, obviously shocked, and he snaps his mouth shut after it falls open. Ron glances over and turns red with embarrassment. “You don’t have to look so surprised, the both of you!” Draco glances back at Harry to see the boy also looks shocked, his brows raised high until they are hidden by his mess hair.

“It’s just…” Ron begins, floundering, hands flailing around him as he tries to speak and some distant part of Draco’s mind wonders if he’s said something in sign language entirely by chance that Vincent or Greg could interpret. “People talk…” Draco really doesn’t care about people, though, “and Slytherin… has a very specific reputation,” a reputation that means nothing to Draco, “I’m just saying you’d probably do better elsewhere! You seem smart, so maybe Ravenclaw? Maybe since you’re so loyal to that girl over there you could be in Hufflepuff. Or you could join me and Harry! Over in Gryffindor! That’d be way better.”

“Ron…” Harry says slowly, like he desperately wants the other boy to just stop talking, and Draco has to agree.

“Apology accepted,” Draco says after a few breaths, because it was nice that Ron had come over so quickly to try and make amends. Draco didn’t know him very well, but he seemed like he would be a remarkably stubborn boy. “But I don’t think it’s fair to…” How to word this…? “I don’t think it’s fair to assume someone’s a bad person just because of, what? A house they’re sorted into?”

Ron looks ready to argue this, opening his mouth to speak, but then his eyes flick past Draco to Harry and his mouth shuts with a scowl, not happy at whatever expression his friend is throwing his way.

Draco finally turns away from the redhead and releases a mighty sigh, deflating. He felt so exhausted, suddenly. Excitement still rolled through his veins at the prospect of everything Hogwarts, but in this moment it only seemed to feed an unnecessary energy into his stress. Why? Why was this happening to him? He had only wanted to talk to Hermione about being sorted. That was it…

Glancing around it appears most everyone is still focused on the ghosts. The earlier argument hadn’t drawn too much attention, thankfully, and now everyone was distracted, also thankfully. Draco runs a hand quickly through his hair, straightening out the strands that hang in his face in an attempt to just give his hands something to do.

Harry is bumping his shoulder, however, and drawing over his attention. His smile is small, but he’s thankfully no longer panicking over his friend or nervous over Draco’s response. “It’ll be okay,” he says quietly so only Draco can hear him.

The blonde blinks at him, brows raised, before he scoffs and flicks his head, nose going up. “Of course it is! I never had any doubt of that,” he says, knowing he sounds snobbish and not caring, especially when Draco looks back over at Harry to smirk and finds the other boy’s smile has turned blinding.

.oOo.

They didn’t have to wait too much longer after the ghosts had made their arrival, but it felt like an eternity for Draco. He was both fascinated and disturbed by the spirits. He wanted to ask questions, but every time he really looked at the translucent figures he was reminded that these were people who had died, some in very gruesome ways.

Eventually, much to Draco’s relief, it was time to enter the Great Hall, the doors opening with slow groans and Hermione nearly bowled everyone over in her rush to get back to the front of the group. McGonagall is back and leading them inside in a neat line, her posture perfect as she walks ahead, and Draco’s eyes widen as they finally slip into the hall.

There are four, long tables that take up much of the room filled with students in black robes with a fifth table at the far end where the faculty sits. All eyes are on the group of first years, but Draco hardly notices, his own gaze flicking around the room in awe. Massive windows from floor to ceiling line the walls and the roof arches high, high above them. Except Draco can’t really see the ceiling, for it looks like the night sky has bled into the room, taking the place of the ceiling, the stars twinkling like they were right there.

The ceiling was charmed, he reminds himself, and he had been wondering what that meant when Hermione had read that to him. Now he realizes he could have never imagined the sheer, elegant beauty of it unless he’d seen it.

They had stopped and Draco hadn’t even noticed, but he did look forward when he realized McGonagall was talking again, her voice carrying through the room. Now so much closer Draco can see the faculty’s faces properly. There is Hagrid, he’s easiest to spot, and a very small man Draco thinks might be Flitwick based off Hermione’s descriptions. There is a sweet-looking, squat woman in robes that looked like they may have once been green but were so patched up and dirtied by now it was hard to tell. 

Draco spots Dumbledore easily enough, the man familiar thanks to the Chocolate Frog card, but there is such a presence and magic to him now that Draco is seeing him in person it almost takes his breath away. The elder man’s eyes twinkle at all the new students, seeming just as excited as they are to finally be sorted.

Beside Dumbledore is an empty seat Draco assumes is McGonagall’s, she is Deputy Headmistress, after all, and beside that is a dark-skinned woman with round features and robes and hat with stars twinkling on them. Beside her is a man who looks like he’s ready to jump out of his skin wearing a purple turban, his fingers dancing frantically on the table, and beside him is… Draco pulls up short.

“Is that your mom?” Draco whispers to Harry at his side and the boy glances over. Seeing her son Lily Potter smiles at them and Harry offers a tentative smile back.

“Y-yeah… she teaches potions,” he whispers quietly, looking a little embarrassed.

“You never mentioned that.”

Harry shrugs. “It never came up.” Feeling he won’t get anything else out of the boy Draco falls silent, dropping the subject for the time being. So, Harry’s mother was a professor at Hogwarts. And in potions, no less, a subject Draco had been especially interested in. It was certainly intriguing.

The clack of wood against stone has Draco looking back towards McGonagall where she is setting down a four-legged stool with a raggedy, old hat set atop that. She was apparently done speaking and Draco has a moment to feel bad about ignoring her so much, but then a tear in the hat splits open like a mouth and it begins to _sing_.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
if you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folks use any means  
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!”

When the hat finishes its song the whole hall begins to applaud, some hooting raucously, and the hat bows to each table before settling back like it had never moved at all, looking like a normal, raggedy hat.

“Whoa,” Draco whispers then hears Ron hiss on the far side of Harry.

“So we’ve just got to try on the hat!” the redhead sounded frustrated for some reason and Draco glances at him. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling with a troll.” That has Harry snorting, obviously finding that funny, and Draco wonders who Fred is.

McGonagall steps forward and Draco attempts to focus entirely on her, suppressing his urge to keep looking around. “When I call your name,” she says as she unfurls a long roll of parchment and adjusts her glasses, “you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.” Draco nods, despite her not looking at him, and she looks down at her list. “Abbot, Hannah!”

A girl with blonde pigtails trips out of the group, her face pink, and she clambers onto the stool. McGonagall holds up the hat for her as she settles then sets it onto her head, the brim falling down over the girl’s eyes. There’s silence, but Draco thinks he sees the hat squirm just a little bit, like it is thinking.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat suddenly yells, making Draco and a few other first years jump at the volume. One of the tables, off to the right with students donned in robes lined with yellow, bursts into applause and Hannah scurries to join them, a big smile on her face.

Draco watches, enamored, as student after student gets called up to be sorted. Susan Bones becomes a Ravenclaw, Terry Boot as well, then the blonde that had ridden in the boat with Vincent, Greg, and Neville, Lavender Brown, becomes a Gryffindor. That table, with all its red, was the loudest.

Millicent Bulstrode, the stout girl that had snickered at Greg, is sorted into Slytherin.

“Crabbe, Vincent,” McGonagall calls eventually and Draco straightens up to watch the boy. He seems equal parts excited and nervous as he splits from the group and plops down on the stool, making it creak. When the hat is set on his head the boy begins to fidget and Draco holds his breath, curious.

It’s the longest they have had to wait, so far, but eventually the hat splits open and calls, “GRYFFINDOR!” Draco doesn’t miss a few confused looks around the hall, but the rowdy table still bursts into loud applause. Vincent walks over, still fidgeting, and Draco watches as he’s clapped on the shoulder by the Weasley twins Draco had seen at the bookshop.

McGonagall doesn’t wait to continue, calling out “Finch-Fletchley, Justin,” who becomes a Hufflepuff. When it was Greg’s turn Draco straightened up again to watch more closely.

Again, the hat takes its time, even longer than Vincent, and at some point the large boy seemed to grow panicked, like he had heard something he didn’t like, and his head turned back and forth. After that it was only a moment before the hat called, “GRYFFINDOR!”

More confused looks but still loud cheering. Greg plopped down beside his friend quickly, the two seeming especially relieved to be in the same house. Draco releases a breath, not realizing he’d been holding it, relieved for the boys as well.

“Granger, Hermione!”

Draco looks up as his friend near sprints for the stool, sitting down and pulling down the hat so hard it looks like she may tear it. The girl grasps the seat of the stool hard, one leg jumping, and then the hat calls, “GRYFFINDOR!” and the red table begins to cheer again, along with Draco. He didn’t care if a few people gave him funny looks, not when Hermione was smiling so big and waving happily at him as she hurried over to the table. Ron groans unhappily, however, and Harry elbows him to behave.

Vincent and Greg greet Hermione excitedly as she sits down and the girl shakes hands with plenty of the students in her house.

A few more names later Neville also gets sorted into Gryffindor, still holding his toad despite McGonagall’s disapproving look, and he is greeted warmly as well. Draco wonders if all the people he had met on the train were going to be in the house for the courageous… Also how had that Neville boy gotten into it? He hardly seemed courageous. Draco would have pegged him as a Hufflepuff, if he’d had to guess.

“Malfoy, Draco!”

The blonde jumps, having not realized it was so close to his turn, and the hall falls silent so quick it could give someone whiplash. Draco swallows and makes his way to the stool in forcefully controlled strides. He catches Dumbledore’s eye, who is looking at him curiously, and Lily Potter smiles warmly at him, and a few of the other professors are leaning forward slightly. McGonagall looks down at him when he gets to the stool, holding the hat up, and she nods once in encouragement.

“Malfoy, did she say?” Draco hears as he sits down.

“THE Draco Malfoy?”

“But, he disappeared.”

The hat is set on his head, then, and Draco’s view of the hall and the students all straining to get a look at him is cut off by the inside of the hat. Then a slim, boney hand squeezes his shoulder - McGonagall - and Draco is left to his fate.

“Hmm,” hums a voice that sounds like it may either be in his head or by his ear, “Difficult. Very difficult. Quite a clever boy, I see, so interested to learn. Brave, too, but I don’t think you realize it. Gryffindor could help you with that, I imagine, but wait… yes, so kind under all these masks. So loyal.”

Draco doesn’t really know what to think with all this being rallied to him. He felt anxious, a knot twisting in his stomach, wanting to know where he belonged already.

“I’m afraid that is not something I can answer, young Malfoy,” the hat says, “Only you can decide where you _belong_ , but I can point you where you will flourish.”

He thinks he can flourish anywhere he is sent, Draco thinks. All the houses seemed to have their strengths, and if Draco played his cards right he could be as successful as possible.

“Hmm, yes, I think I may just agree with you on that. Such an ambitious boy, ready to do what needs to be done. Yes, and as much as they will help you, I do believe you will help them, as well. Better be SLYTHERIN!”

The hat is removed from Draco’s head and he is greeted by a very interesting response. The green table is clapping, louder than with all the other students that had been sorted into them, a few of the older students whooping like the Gryffindor table had done. 

Then Draco sees a good number of the other students. Some look shocked, some look nervous, some look angry, and some look _scared_. Draco isn’t a fan of that last one.

A nudge to his back has Draco finally getting up and moving, realizing he had frozen, and he hurries up. He catches Harry’s eye, who is clapping a little and smiling, and Ron looks like he ate something sour. He sees Hermione smiling at him, a little bittersweet they won’t be in the same house, but obviously happy for him. She, Vincent, Greg, and Neville are clapping for him, he’s surprised to see, and he can’t help the pleased feeling in his gut as he finally hurries over to his new table.

A few of the students clap his shoulder as he passes, but it feels particularly reserved. Mostly he gets nods and very professional sounding greetings. Millicent is looking at him oddly, but she does offer him a nod as he sits across from her.

It feels like a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders as he settles into his seat. He had finally been sorted, sorted into the house both his parents had called theirs, sorted into the house that may have had a bad reputation, but all Draco could feel was eagerness.

More students are called to the front to be sorted. The tall boy that had been with Millicent, Theodore Nott, is also sorted into Slytherin, and gives Draco a rather haughty nod in greeting. Pansy Parkinson does as well, sitting across from Draco with Theodore and Millicent, but she at least extends her hand to shake in greeting.

“Potter, Harry!”

Draco stretches to try and see over the heads of the students when the black-haired boy’s name is called. Harry walks slowly up to the stool, looking anxious and worried as he sits down, eyes flicking over to the Gryffindor table where some of the students, namely the redheads, look expectant.

Then Harry catches Draco’s eye right before the hat is set on his head. He looked like he was near panicking, and Draco really wishes he understood why.

There is silence as the hall waits for the verdict, the hat wiggling so much it turns Harry’s head back and forth, but then there’s no call. Draco’s brows furrow as he waits and waits, but nothing happens. Whispers begin to pick up, mostly just kids going back to their conversations while they wait, but a few wondering why it was taking so long. Draco glances up at the head table and sees Lily watching her son with poorly masked worry, tapping her nails on the table as they wait.

Then, like a crack of thunder, the hat makes its decision, to the shock of many within the hall.

“SLYTHERIN!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: [Bad Reputation - Joan Jett](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RAQXg0IdfI)
> 
> Edit: Was calling Vincent and Greg "Crabbe and Goyle" all chapter and didn't even realize! Had to fix that!


	6. Slytherins Are Just Like Everyone Else

The hall was in shock. Majority of the students had fallen silent and when the hat was removed from Harry’s head his eyes were wide and frightened. He looked pale, even from here, and only when the Slytherin table began to clap - looking smug about it, too - and McGonagall nudged Harry did the young wizard finally begin to move. He kept his head down as he hurried over and took a seat beside Draco.

A few of the older students leant forward to shake his hand, like they’d done with Draco, but they had a look on their faces that set the blonde’s stomach turning. They thought this was hilarious, he realized. Harry had made it clear everyone expected him to go into Gryffindor, and Draco had read that Slytherin and Gryffindor had a long-standing rivalry. This couldn’t be easy for the messy-haired boy.

Draco glances around at the hall as the sorting continues and spots Ron looking over at them, his face stony, and Draco isn’t a fan of whatever that might mean, so he looks away. Lily Potter also keeps glancing over at them, but Draco is thankful to see she doesn’t look disappointed, only worried. He had liked the woman so far; he would have hated to see her judging her child over something like this.

Draco really doesn’t care about the rest of the sorting anymore, all the people he’d cared to see sorted are already at their tables, so he looks at Harry properly. The boy is still pale, his eyes wide behind his glasses as he stares down at the smooth wood of the table. He has his hands clasped tightly together and squeezed between his knees like he’s trying to keep from fidgeting, and he looks like he is about to implode.

His whole life Draco had never been very good at comforting people. He was awkward in these rare situations and usually fell back on blunt comments that earned him no favors. But this boy had gone out of his way to be kind to him, the least Draco could do is try.

“I’m beginning to get the feeling you didn’t want to be in this house,” Draco whispers, leaning towards Harry so only the other boy can hear. He’s met, very suddenly, by surprised, green eyes.

For a moment Harry works his mouth like he can’t figure out what to say, opening and closing it before swallowing and shaking his head in a panic. “Of-of course not! I just… I was… I was supposed to be somewhere else, is all,” Harry finishes lamely, looking back down at the table. Some of his nerves seem to be shifting now that he’s talking and now he just looks sad.

“Not according to that hat,” Draco shrugs, hoping the nonchalant yet blunt approach would work for him here.

Harry’s shoulders tense and he glances in the opposite direction as Draco. “I was expected to follow my parents,” he whispers and it takes everything in the blonde not to comment that the people that raised him, people that weren’t even his family, only expected him to do well and be happy. He doesn’t, figuring sarcasm won’t help him, and instead leans even closer in.

“Seems unfair to expect someone to have control over something they have no control over,” he says, sounding conversational but also decisive. “Weren’t you the one that told me Slytherin was fine?”

Harry glances back over at him, still sad but thoughtful as well. Good, he needed to really be considering things. “I guess…” Then he takes a deep breath and tries to sit up straighter, despite his drooping shoulders. “Sorry. Nothing against Slytherin, or anything, just…”

“Not what you planned?” Draco is met with silence and he reconsiders his wording. “Not what everyone else around you planned?” Still silence, but Harry’s pinched expression gives him all the answers he needs. “Yeah, well,” Draco reaches out and pats Harry’s shoulder, “guess we’re just in this one together, then.” Finally, Harry cracks a smile at him, and Draco feels like he’s been rewarded for his efforts.

Glancing back around the room he spots Lily Potter looking right at him, her own green eyes alight with some strong emotion Draco can’t place. When they lock eyes, however, her expression softens and she smiles gratefully at him, nodding once and he nods back.

The sorting ceremony is just about over, by then. Ron hardly even sits down on the stool and has the hat on his head before he is sorted into Gryffindor. The redhead keeps throwing glances their way and Harry won’t look at him, but no one seems particularly angry about the newest developments, so that’s a plus. Finally, lastly, the dark-skinned boy that had kept his distance from the rest of the students before, Blaise Zabini, is sorted into Slytherin where they clap and he takes a seat on the other side of Harry, silent.

Draco wonders if they’ll be getting started with dinner, now, and he glances at the doors to see if anyone might be coming in with trays of food. No one does, much to the displeasure of his stomach, and he looks back to the front of the hall where McGonagall is setting away her list and moving the stool and hat aside. She moves back to the empty seat beside the Headmaster at the Head Table and then Dumbledore is getting to his feet. Draco is immediately all ears, eyes locked on the elder man and his colorful robes and his clever, twinkling eyes.

“Welcome!” Dumbledore begins, arms wide as he greets them all, his voice and smile showing just how happy he is to see all of the students. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

Then the man is sitting back down, still smiling brightly, and the hall begins to clap and cheer. Draco, however, doesn’t, his brows raised. He glances across the hall and catches Hermione’s eye, her own expression equally surprised, but then she shakes her head and gives a helpless shrug.

“Is he, uh…” Draco begins, turning towards the majority of the Slytherin table, “Is he a little… you know…” How was he supposed to ask this, exactly?

“Mad?” questions a girl to Draco’s right named Tracey Davis, her expression half hidden behind a curtain of brown hair, but still bored yet entertained at the same time.

“Bonkers?” offers an older student, a boy with curly, blonde hair and wide-set eyes.

“Right off his rocker?!” calls yet another older student from further down the table, her dark, red hair falling onto the table when she leans forward to see him.

“Yes. Yes he is,” says a witch Draco recognizes as their prefect, Gemma Farley, who has brilliant, blue eyes, a thin nose, and curly, black hair. “Want some potatoes, Draco? You look like a dang twig.” Draco tilts his head in confusion before looking where Gemma is motioning to the table. A gasp escapes him when he realizes piles upon piles of food has appeared all along the tables, seemingly out of nowhere. But… how? Where had it come from? And how had he missed its appearance?

“Dumbledore is a brilliant wizard!” Harry suddenly cuts in, looking over at Gemma like he’s been insulted personally. “A genius, even!”

“Why can’t he be crazy AND a genius?” calls the redheaded girl from down the table, a big smile on her face, “They tend to go hand-in-hand anyway.” A few of the other Slytherins look at the girl like there’s some inside joke there and she begins to laugh. Draco hardly notices, still staring at the food in amazement.

He wants to ask questions, desperately, but then his stomach growls and he realizes his mouth is watering so he really doesn’t care. He begins piling food onto his plate, Harry already has a bit of everything save for some peppermint humbugs, and begins to dig in.

It is in this moment, with all this food Draco could only dream about, with all these magical kids around him, with ghosts floating back and forth and sitting with the students, that it really begins to set in that Draco is far, far from his foster home. The life he has grown up with feels far in the past and everything is new and brilliant and full of possibilities.

“Food must be good; no one’s talking,” Draco hears a girl with straight, mousey hair tied into a ponytail - Daphne Greengrass - say a few seats down and he glances over. She must realize he’s looking because she glances up, turns pink, then clears her throat. “Sorry. Dad always says that.”

It was true. There were murmurs everywhere, but altogether the conversation was limited with everyone’s mouths full of delicious food. It wouldn’t last, he figured, but it gave him a chance to look around.

Nearly Headless Nick was floating over by the Gryffindor table, he spotted, chatting with the new first years. At some point a few heads turn towards the Slytherin table and Draco stiffens.

Pansy, across from Draco, picks up his posture and glances back. When she spots the table in red she sneers and turns back. “How much you want to bet they’re talking about the house cup?” she huffs with a roll of her eyes. Draco remembers reading about the house cup. Every house earned points throughout the year to eventually have one crowned the victor at the end. It seemed like an honest form of competition.

“We’ve won the last six years in a row, you know,” Gemma says, preening and smiling, a piece of veggies sticking out from between her teeth. Draco tries not to snort and Harry, he spots, makes a move at his own mouth to warn the prefect of the rebellious food. She startles, cleans her teeth with a finger, then glowers at the first years, her moods apparently like a pendulum. “So, don’t screw this up for us, alright? Every year I’ve been here we’ve won, and I intend to keep it that way until I graduate.”

“And after you graduate?” Harry questions, one brow arched higher than the other. He didn’t look too pleased with the prefect’s reasoning and Draco felt like he could agree. He wanted to win, he loved winning, but to only make it about one’s self seemed detrimental to the cause.

Gemma opens her mouth to say something but then the redhead girl, curly blonde boy, and a boy with dreads pulled into a bun say, in unison, “Then you’re all on your own and you’ll probably drown!” Gemma looks back at the trio of speakers, obviously agitated, and Harry snickers at Draco’s side. It was good to see the boy beginning to relax, despite how pale he still was.

Eventually the main course came to an end, Draco feeling stuffed already, but then the food disappeared, and piles of desserts took its place. Draco suddenly didn’t feel as full, eying the ice cream and apple pie greedily. He cut a hefty slice of pie then dropped a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of it while Harry piled his plate with treacle tart and only treacle tart.

“You sure you have enough?” Draco snarks, eying the food on the boy’s plate and Harry gives him an unhappy look.

“Don’t act like my mother,” he warns, waving his fork at the blonde, who only shrugs and begins to dig into his own food.

It seems, however, that with dessert comes conversation and Millicent Bulstrode is leaning over the table towards Harry and Draco, her own plate piled with doughnuts and Jell-O, a strange combination. “Speaking of your mother, Potter,” she says, beady eyes glancing over at the Head Table, and she smirks. Draco doesn’t like it, and he doesn’t like how Harry has stiffened, as if frightened.

“Don’t ask me to get her to go easy on you,” the bespectacled boy says, trying to sound confident, but his voice wobbles. Draco suspects they all know that that wasn’t what Millicent was planning on asking.

“She’s muggleborn, right?” the girl continues and Theodore snickers. Draco’s hold on his cutlery tightens.

“What’s wrong with that?” Harry’s tone has shifted, now. He sounds cold, like he’s somehow separating from the conversation mentally, and Draco can’t blame him. This was quickly taking a turn he had not been expecting and certainly didn’t like.

“Just makes me wonder how you got accepted in here, is all,” Millicent hums, sitting back in her seat and looking far too pleased with herself.

“By being ambitious, cunning, and resourceful,” Draco snaps, counting off the characteristics on his fingers as he says them. Attention turns from Harry to Draco quickly and the blonde sits up straighter, his silver eyes thinned as he forces himself to look back at them. “That’s what Salazar Slytherin appreciated, correct?”

“He also appreciated pure-bloods,” Pansy says conversationally, her head resting on her hand, her other hand twirling a spoon through some rice pudding.

“He also isn’t here and can get over himself,” Draco snaps but shivers when something cold seems to pass over him. The ghost that had been covered in silver blood floated through Draco, the table, and Millicent before looking back at them. He is a dour, horrible looking man, and he looks at Draco as if in warning.

“Be more respectful than that,” the Bloody Baron warns, voice deep and foreboding. It sends a shiver down Draco’s spine. “But… yes, Salazar was a very… intense man,” the ghost admits, although with obvious reserve. Draco wonders how long he’s been dead and if he knew Salazar Slytherin. 

“Plus!” Gemma calls, leaning into the conversation suddenly, voiced raised just enough for the whole of the first years to hear, “That whole ‘only accepts pure-bloods’ is just a myth now. _Certainly_ we prefer them, it is so much more convenient to have someone who already has a foothold here, don’t you see, but times have changed! I have a whole speech planned for you all when we got to the common room.”

“She didn’t used to think that,” says the boy with the dreads. Draco spots he also has a prefect badge on, but seems to be keeping his distance. “But how can she stay like that when Vivian earns us so many points?” the boy motions to the redheaded girl, who leans over again and grins brightly, her mouth full of ice cream.

“What?” Theodore questions. He and Millicent don’t seem as smug anymore, looking very put out for having the conversation no longer be in their favor. “Are you half-blood, too?”

“Muggleborn, actually,” the redhead - Vivian - says, her grin turning smug and devilish. “I’m one of three muggleborns in the whole of Slytherin, but I’ll kick your ass if you come at me, you hear?”

“My best friend is muggleborn,” Draco cuts in, catching the redhead’s eye, “She could probably kick some butts, too.”

Vivian shrugs, still grinning, “Us muggleborns are made of tougher stuff. We have to be! No offense, of course.”

Draco shakes his head, not offended at all. “It’s fine. I was raised by Muggles anyway.”

That gets peoples attention. Suddenly the whole table is looking at him, eyes wide and curious. He remembers how Harry had been when he had first discovered Draco was The-Boy-Who-Lived, surprised by how little he knew, so Draco suspects, now, that that mindset is an unfortunately common thing.

Questions start flying and Draco answers them to the best of his ability, remembering Arthur Weasley despite himself, and then Daphne says, “My mummy and dad told me Muggles aren’t that bad, but I was never sure. You make them sound okay, though.”

“Speak for yourself,” Theodore huffs, rolling his eyes. “He should be denouncing them, or something, if he really wants to earn back his family’s good name.”

“What’s wrong with my family’s name?” Draco demands, hackles rising in a sudden surge of protective indignation. He didn’t know anything about his family, didn’t know if he had any remaining relatives or family friends. He knew nothing about his parents save they had been in Slytherin and were rich. But he also knows that they loved him so much they would die for him, and that is enough for him to feel protective over anything anyone would say about them.

“The Malfoy’s are just a bunch of cowards and traitors now,” Theodore says nastily. He looked angry, for some reason, like he was insulted by the Malfoy name personally, and Draco realizes he really wouldn’t mind punching him. Then the tall boy is smirking and his eyes thin. “At least you left room for real, honorable families to take your place.”

“Shut up, Nott,” Daphne snaps, also not looking happy.

“Upset mommy and daddy didn’t take the opportunity when it presented itself?” Millicent sneers, her fat face smeared with food.

“Your families like picking up scraps, do they?” It is, to his great shock, Draco realizes it is Harry who has just spoken. The blonde glances over and sees the other wizard glaring across the table at Theodore and Millicent, his green eyes hard. On his other side Blaise, who has been silent this whole time, actually snorts. When Theodore and Millicent seem too shocked to say anymore, also not expecting the biting comment from the seemingly anxious boy, Harry says, “Then shut up.”

They do, thankfully, and Draco keeps staring at Harry with a slack jaw and bug eyes. With the argument seemingly over Harry appears to transform, angry lines softening until he looks nervous once more.

“Did I really just do that?” Harry whispers urgently to Draco, his own, green eyes wide in realization, and Draco nods slowly.

“You did,” he whispers back before letting loose a big smile, “It was brilliant.”

Harry gets flustered at that, spluttering thanks and apologies at once, but a smile has returned to his face and Draco thinks it fits him much better than his frowns or scowls.

Movement catches both of the boys’ attentions and they look up just in time to see Lily walking over to them. At some point she had slipped away from the High Table and was now keeping herself low as she approached her son. As soon as she was close she tugged the boy into a quick hug then crouched between him and Draco, eyes worried.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” she says lowly, keeping the conversation private. A few of the other students do look over, but seem fine to leave them be. “You doing alright?”

Harry looks anxious all over again, eyes wide from being approached by his mother so soon. Draco wonders if it was her who had been so insistent he become a Gryffindor, but squashes that idea after remembering how she had looked at her son after his sorting. She was worried for him, but even Draco could tell it wasn’t because of disappointment.

“Yes, mom,” Harry mumbles, trying to avoid her eye, but when Lily sighs he glances up, panicked by whatever she is about to say or do.

“There is nothing you have to be worried about, Harry,” Lily says, hand brushing away some of his messy hair. It springs right back into place a moment later. “No one is upset with you and we all love you _so much_.”

“You’re…” Harry stops. He’s shocked and he glances past his mother at Draco like he’s looking for assistance. The blonde only shrugs. He certainly has no idea what to do. “You’re not… disappointed?”

Lily looks shocked and even a little bit hurt at the question, but she quickly is pulling her son into another, quick hug. “Of course not, Harry! There is nothing wrong with Slytherin. I… I actually had a dear friend in this house in my school years. I think Slytherin house might just be the luckiest house if they get to have someone like you.”

Harry ducks his head, cheeks darkening in embarrassment at his mother’s praise, and Lily is smiling at him lovingly. Draco thinks it is all quite sweet, and a little funny, but then Lily is turning like a snap to look at him instead. “They’re lucky to have _you_ , too, Draco,” she says and then her free arm is coming out to squeeze Draco into a half hug. The blonde is so startled he doesn’t even try to fight her off. Harry must think his expression is hilarious because he’s grinning at him over his mother’s shoulder.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you talking to my boy earlier,” Lily continues, leaning away but keeping a hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “You’ve been such a sweet child. I am quite happy you and Harry met.”

Draco’s face turns pink and his eyes only widen, now with a touch of horror. “I-I’m not sweet!” he yelps in indignation then shoots a glare past Lily when he sees not just Harry but Blaise, too, holding back snickers.

Lily hums thoughtfully then leans in, looking very closely at Draco, before nodding and leaning back away. “Nope, definitely sweet. Sorry dear, I am professor, so I know these things,” she replies then stands before Draco can retort. She smiles at the table as a whole and the group of students watching her. “I look forward to seeing you all in my class this year,” she says in a kind but professional tone, “Remember, reading ahead is always a good idea.”

Then the woman is turning away and heading back to the Head Table. Draco stares after her, along with everyone else at the table, before Sophie Roper, a first year girl with dirty blonde pigtails, stage whispers, “Your mom is really nice.”

Harry blushes but smiles and nods his thanks. Draco has to agree with Sophie, his eyes tracking Lily thoughtfully. She was such a kind and gentle soul, it seemed, and Draco thinks that maybe Harry might have inherited that.

With conversation moving on Draco finds his eyes rolling over the rest of the High Table. Hagrid is throwing back his drink. He looks different in better light, more human, but still very hairy. McGonagall is speaking lowly to Dumbledore, who smiles and nods occasionally, and the man with the turban is turned away, speaking to the woman in the constellation robes. Seeming to sense his eyes on them the woman turns cold, calculating eyes towards Draco, looking at him thoughtfully and--

And then the pain begins. A cold, agonizing pain shoots through his chest, gripping around the left side of his ribcage, centered under his scar. Draco quickly grasps it, squeezing his robes and pressing his palm into the source of the pain. It took his breath away and he couldn’t even utter a sound save for a weak gasp.

“You alright over there?” Pansy questions, one brow arched. She didn’t actually look like she cared.

“Fine,” Draco sighs as, just as quickly as it had started, the pain vanished, leaving him hyperaware of the beating of his heart. He takes a moment to catch his breath before gulping and glancing back at the two teachers, but neither are paying attention to him. “Who are those two teachers?” he questions and Pansy looks over where he’s pointing. It’s Harry who answers, however.

“Professor Quirrell’s the one with the turban,” the boy says, turning to Draco, “He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. Dad says he doesn’t know if he’ll survive.”

“He used to teach Muggle Studies,” Gemma adds on and Draco glances at her. She cringes. “He’s kind of a… scaredy-cat.”

“The woman is Professor Sinistra,” Harry continues, “She teaches Astronomy.”

“She’s also our Head of House,” Daphne says helpfully. “Everyone says she’s really strict and cold.”

“I heard she doesn’t have any emotions at all,” Pansy hisses, seeming much more interested now that they could be delving into gossip. “Is it true she went to Uagadou?”

“The last five years of her education, yes,” Gemma nods, pleased to be talking about their Head of House, “The first two she was here, though. Sorted into Slytherin, of course.”

As the conversation veers into talk of different wizarding schools and their merits Draco turns away to watch Sinistra, but she doesn’t look at him again. Instead she has begun talking to another teacher, expression blank and unchanging even when the other teacher begins to laugh.

Not long after that dessert comes to an end and all the remaining food fades away. Draco felt fuller than he’d ever felt in his life, his stomach happy and his eyes beginning to droop. It had certainly been a long day.

When Dumbledore stands once more the entire hall falls silent, attention entirely on their Headmaster. “Ahem - Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered,” he begins and Draco half expects him to say some more nonsense. “I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

Dumbledore’s eyes flash towards the Gryffindor table and Draco sees the Weasley twins look pointedly away, one smiling and the other whistling, looking the picture of guilty.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.” Down the table Draco hears Vivian snort quietly, apparently not taking too much interest in that rule. “Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.” A boy Draco recalls introducing himself as Marcus Flint makes pointed hand motions at a few other students, as if making sure they heard that last bit.

“And finally,” Dumbledore pauses like he’s making sure everyone is listening. He need not worry, he has everyone’s rapt attention. “I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

Draco snorts, like he’s about to laugh, and a very, very small number of other students chuckle, but it very quickly dies out when they all realize no one else is finding this funny. Feeling a spike of panic Draco looks to Harry for an explanation. “Is he serious?”

“I guess so,” the other boy shrugs, just as clueless, but definitely taking Dumbledore for his word.

“’Very painful death,’ he says. He really IS crazy,” Draco mumbles just as Dumbledore is continuing.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” The Headmaster flicks his wand once and a long ribbon rolls out of it, twisting and turning through the air like it could be alive, before it settles, floating, in the shape of words above them. “Everyone pick their favorite tune and off we go!”

The hall erupted into a cacophony of noise as everyone began to sing to the song, but in a mess of different beats, tunes, and pitches. Draco grit his teeth, not even trying after the first line, and instead bore through it until all that was left were the Weasley twins, both going off a slow funeral march, Dumbledore conducting their last lines. When done a small splattering of students applauded them, including Dumbledore himself.

Draco was absolutely positive the man was insane. Genius, like Harry had said, maybe, but definitely insane.

“Ah, music,” Dumbledore sighs, wiping his eyes like he was crying, “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

.oOo.

First year students were led out of the Great Hall after that by one of their prefects. The boy with the dreads - Draco found out his name was William Ward - helped lead up the rest of the Slytherin students along with the other prefects Draco had not met, while Gemma was in charge of them. Draco wasn’t all that surprised. The girl seemed particularly excited in educating all of them on their house and welcoming them properly.

As they filed out of the Great Hall Draco got one last glance over at the other first years. He and Hermione lock eyes and she waves at him, smiling. He waves back. It was good having her here at Hogwarts with him, and it was good they had both gotten the houses they had been vouching for, but it would be a little sad not being together all that much. They would need to schedule hang out times.

They make their way downwards, into the depths of the castle, and Draco pulls his robes a bit tighter as a chill sets in. Right, the Slytherin dorms were in the dungeons. Figures they would be cold. It was probably a good thing he preferred the cold, then. He always preferred bundling up in warm, thick clothes and curling up somewhere. You couldn’t do that in the heat.

The Bloody Baron floats along with them and they are given a short explanation that he was the only entity capable of dealing with some poltergeist named Peeves. With a glance at the horrid blood stains that adorn the ghost Draco figures that’s fair.

Eventually they come to a stop in a quiet corridor. Sconces hang along the wall in a seemingly consistent pattern, but then, right in front of where they are standing, there appears to be a missing torch. The pattern is broken, but only just in a way that it could have been missed if you weren’t paying close enough attention.

Gemma steps towards the seemingly blank wall, facing it confidently, and says clearly, “Anguis!” The moment the word is out of her mouth the wall vanishes, revealing instead an alcove with a door lined with two sconces like the ones along the corridor, but with green fire instead. Gemma smirks back at them, pleased to see them amazed by the reveal, then leads them inside.

The Slytherin common room greets them and Draco feels an immediate kinship to it. It is large, with a high, curved ceiling, walls made of rough stone, and decorated with tapestries and paintings of Medieval events and people of Slytherin. Orbs made of glass hang from chains all over the room and green light emanates from them while a massive fireplace sits off to the left, crackling with a fire that warms Draco’s bones, and a Slytherin emblem sits atop it.

The furnishings are mostly black or dark green. Leather sofas and chairs and dark wood tables covered in books and study materials are organized around the room. The windows along the walls are huge, too, and reach from the floor up to the ceiling, giving everyone a view of the lake. The light passing through the water also gives the room a green-blue tint, the sound of the water against the walls and glass immediately putting Draco at ease.

Draco loves it. It feels cozy and quiet, like a secret hideout or some safe place for someone who just wanted to get away from everything. It’s perfect, and judging by the small gasps that escape some of the other students Draco isn’t the only one to think so.

Gemma gives them a few moments to take it all in before she steps in front of their group, hands on her hips, and big smile on her face. She looks ecstatic as she starts her obviously well-practiced speech for them all. She tells them a few facts about Slytherin they all already know. She tells them the common room has a charm on it that makes it feel unwelcoming to non-Slytherins. She tells them about a giant squid in the lake that sometimes swims by the windows, along with many other creatures. She compares the atmosphere of the room to a “mysterious, underwater shipwreck,” which would usually give Draco the chills, but this time he can’t help but happily agree.

She breaks down a few myths they have all certainly heard about the house and, appearing frustrated, explains there are plenty of nasty witches and wizards from other houses out there. She’s trying to reassure them, Draco realizes, knowing they will certainly get flak from the rest of the student body for their affiliation.

She reminds them Merlin was a Slytherin, making a few of them puff out their chests, and she sasses the other houses for a second in a not-entirely-mean-spirited-but-not-the-sweetest-either kind of way. 

Then she tells them that Slytherins look after their own. Draco can’t help but glance over at Theodore and Millicent when she says that, really wondering if she’s serious. In addition, hadn’t it been Gemma who had been so focused on winning the house cup earlier because she, personally, didn’t want to lose while she was attending Hogwarts?

But she seems convinced of herself, telling them that while they are here, they will be happy to have the serpents on their side. Draco wonders if they have to look after each other so much because no one else will. It’s a dark thought, but judging by the reputation the house apparently had he wouldn’t be surprised.

Gemma goes on and on a bit longer, bashing Gryffindor at one point and making Draco scowl, and explains the password for the dorms will change every fortnight, so they need to keep an eye on the noticeboard. She warns never to hand out the password and not to bring anyone into their common room. “No outsider has entered it for more than seven centuries,” she adds smugly, and Draco really, really doubts that. Seven centuries? That’s too long for something like that.

After their introductory speech the first years are ushered off to their dorm rooms. Girls dorms lay down a small staircase to the left, boys down to the right. The stairs lead them further down, the heat from the fireplace in the common room fading as they find the dorm room for the first years.

The room they enter is circular with four, four-poster beds circling around the center. Emerald green hangings are pulled back along the beds and the covers are lined with silver thread. They look remarkable warm.

More, long windows look out into the lake along the wall, and a circular alcove, much too small for a person, is dug out to the far right with what looks like a circular tunnel leading up and out of the room. Feathers lay at the base of the alcove and Draco realizes, after a few beats, that owls must use this tunnel to get down to them when needed.

Another door sits to the left of the room, a bathroom, and a rug with the Slytherin emblem lays in the center of the room. All of their trunks are already placed at the ends of the beds and Draco goes over to his own, checking to make sure everything is there. It is, thankfully, and he plops down on his bed with a groan, sinking into the squishy covers. Despite the dorm room feeling a bit warmer than the corridors, it still was helpful to have extra thick blankets.

“What a day,” he says, partially to himself.

“No kidding,” Harry sighs, sounding exhausted as he sorts through his own trunk by the bed to Draco’s right. Theodore’s bed sits to Draco’s left, and Blaise’s is one more down from there.

“Still upset you didn’t get to be with your lions, Harry-kins?” Theodore smirks, but Harry very obviously ignores him, pulling out his pajamas to start getting ready for the night.

“You’re not going to be pleasant to be around at all… are you?” Draco questions conversationally, sitting up and looking over at the tall boy. Blaise has already dug out his own pajamas and slipped into the bathroom, not wanting to be part of whatever is happening.

“No need to be so sour, Boy Wonder,” Theodore hums, waving his hand dismissively, and Draco scowls at him, “We’re all Slytherins, here. We can be civil.”

“We’ll see,” the blonde replies, glaring at Theodore, who keeps smirking and shrugs at the comment. Draco wouldn’t mind civil, he didn’t have to get along with everyone, but so far he hadn’t seen much evidence that it could happen.

“Let’s just get ready for bed,” Harry cuts in, his weary eyes catching Draco’s, pleading him to just drop this, and Draco supposes it would be the smarter thing to do. He nods and slides off the bed, going for his trunk to get his pajamas, then his duffel bag for toiletries. He opens it up, pulls out the cloth, zip up case with all his bathroom supplies, then shrieks in surprise when something moves in his bag. 

“What? What is it?” Harry is first to respond, hurrying over to Draco to make sure he’s okay. The blonde is clutching his chest, willing his heartbeat to go back to normal, eyes locked on what looks like moving rope in his bag. Harry seems to also spot it, for he stiffens and pulls out his wand, a dark wood that looks so rough and natural it could have just been a branch someone plucked off a tree, reaching out with it to poke at the rope.

“What is _that_?” Theodore demands from somewhere behind them. The rope curves away from Harry’s poking and only as Draco’s heart and mind both calm down do the pieces begin to fall into place.

The pale boy scowls and leans forward, ignoring Harry and Theodore’s calls of protest, and reaches into the bag, scooping out a very familiar, brown snake. “Muddy,” he says, eyes thinned as the snake’s tail curls around his hand like a greeting and her head comes up to look at Draco.

“Muddy?” Harry repeats, looking between Draco and the small, perfectly harmless snake.

“One of the snakes in my foster family’s garden. They never bothered me so I was always in charge of tending to everything. There was Snowflake, Shadow,” Draco holds up the brown snake a bit closer to Harry, “and Muddy.”

Just then the bathroom door opens and Blaise reenters. All three boys look over at him in alarm, and he looks back. He catches sight of the little, brown snake curling around Draco’s hand, stares at it for a very long time, then looks at Draco with an arched brow. “You really were meant for Slytherin, weren’t you?” he questions, the first thing Draco has heard him say yet, then he shakes his head and turns to his bed, mumbling, “Pet snakes… jeez.”

“She isn’t my pet!” Draco calls, then glares at Muddy, whose head waves back and forth leisurely. “She and the other two just… leave me be. And listen to me complain.” Draco’s scowl returns. “And she really shouldn’t be here!”

Harry has leant towards his duffel bag and is gently searching through it for any other snakes, but thankfully finds none. So, it’s just Muddy, then. At least there’s that.

“She’s actually kind of cute,” Harry says, sitting on the ground beside Draco and running a finger along Muddy’s sleek body. Draco rolls his eyes.

“Don’t spoil her. She’ll get insufferable,” he drawls and Harry shrugs, still running his finger over her scales. Draco turns his glare back to her, now, and says lowly, “You should know better, young lady. I have a pet owl now, you realize? She could eat you up!”

 _Then don’t let her_ , Muddy seems to say, her eyes turning towards Draco lazily.

“You’re insufferable,” he grumbles, but Muddy seems done with him, now, and he lets her slither up his arm and settle around his neck. Honestly, of all the snakes to sneak into his luggage, why did it have to be Muddy? She was sweet, sure, but she had a mind of her own. At least Shadow would just mind his business, and…

Draco realizes the room around him has fallen deathly silent save for the splashing of lake water against the windows. He looks up towards Harry and finds the boy is staring at him with wide, shocked eyes. Draco blinks, then looks back towards the room. Theodore is staring, looking a little frightened, and Blaise has sat up in his bed, also shocked but curious, too.

“What?” Draco questions when no one seems willing to say anything. Harry audibly gulps, working his mouth as he tries to figure out what to say. Theodore beats him to the punch.

“You’re a bloody parselmouth?!” he yells, taking a step back.

Parselmouth? That sounded familiar. Draco had definitely read about that, but probably not in depth. He tilts his head and looks to Harry for an explanation, the boy making desperate motions with his hands as he, yet again, tries to formulate a response.

“It means you can talk to snakes,” Blaise offers, not getting off his bed but leaning forward, eye flicking between Draco and Muddy. “It’s, like, a really rare characteristic. Usually it’s passed down through families.”

“Languages can’t be genetic,” Draco retorts, sitting up straighter.

“They can in the magical realm,” Harry mumbles, finally finding his voice.

“But I wasn’t talking any different,” Draco continues, looking around at the boys in mounting panic. “I’m always just venting to them, not… holding conversations! I mean… I imagine how they might respond, but it’s… it’s just imagination! Nothing more.”

“ _Is it, though_?” the voice Draco always associated with Muddy, childish and feminine, hisses in his ear as the snake moves around.

A hand on his shoulder has Draco looking over at Harry, the boy smiling tightly, “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he says, and Draco highly doubts that, “There’s nothing wrong with being a parselmouth. It’s just… really, really rare and unexpected.”

“You might not want to tell anybody, though,” Blaise cuts in, sounding like he’s already over this discovery. “It’s associated with Salazar Slytherin and snakes, so of course it’s got a bad reputation.”

Draco deflates, realization weighing down on his shoulders. The small inkling of hope that had begun to grow at Harry’s words, that this was some cool trick he could show off, was quickly squashed. “Oh…” he mumbles, dejected.

“We won’t tell anyone,” Harry is quick to say, hand still on Draco’s shoulder, his voice firm. “Won’t we?”

“I don’t really care,” Blaise says, shrugging, but Theodore is scowling.

“What? You’re going to keep this from the rest of your house? Good luck with that!” he scoffs. Draco glances down at where Muddy’s tail hangs down his chest and cringes. He was right. If he had a snake with him it would already seem odd, but something like this was bound to get out to the rest of their house.

“Well… then Slytherin will keep it a secret. Like Gemma said, we stick together,” Harry says, jostling Draco’s shoulder so he looks up at him, “And I’m sure everyone here understands what having people see them only for their reputations is like.”

Draco looks at Harry for a long moment then glances back at Blaise and Theodore. Blaise shrugs, nonchalant, and Theodore doesn’t look happy, but he eventually grumbles, “Fine,” before snatching his pajamas and storming off to the bathroom. “But keep that snake away from me!”

When Draco looks back Harry is glaring at the bathroom door, his displeasure at Theodore palpable, but then he’s smiling reassuringly at Draco, squeezing his shoulder. “It’ll be fine,” he whispers and finally Draco lets out a breath, allowing himself to believe the boy.

“Yeah. Okay,” he nods and Harry smiles a bit bigger.

With all the excitement Draco is even more eager to get ready for bed. A few minutes later he is climbing into his bed, teeth brushed, face washed, and pajamas on, Harry clambering into his own bed a few moments after. Muddy has slithered somewhere under Draco’s bed, apparently hunting for rats now that she’s out of her duffel bag confinement, and Draco burrows into the warmth of his new, thick comforter.

He catches a final glimpse of a massive shadow swimming past the window, lazy and relaxed in its movements, before he shuts his eyes and lets the sound of the lake wash him into the realm of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: [Rise - Jonas Blue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btrzs54s1Rc)


	7. And The Classes Begin

The following morning Draco wakes up bright and early. He’s used to waking up early, so even though they only get an inkling of the sun through the lake water his body naturally knows it is time to get up. Surprisingly Blaise has already gotten up and left, his bed messy and abandoned, while Theodore remains splayed out in his and Harry has curled up like an armadillo with his blankets.

For a moment Draco just lays in his bed, staring up at his canopy, before his stomach forces himself to get up and start moving.

Today he finally gets to begin classes and he feels even more excited than when he had first arrived at Hogwarts. He had studied so much before coming, written notes and questions he wanted to ask when he got the chance, and felt ready to explode with anticipation. He had no idea how the classes would be structured, but he was eager to find out.

When Draco moves to his trunk to pull out his robes he finds his school schedule sitting on top of it, outlining his and the other first-year Slytherin’s classes. He sets it to the side to look over later, not wanting to get distracted, and hurries to get ready. As he passes Harry’s bed on the way to the bathroom he uses the robes in his arms to smack at his head.

“Wake up,” he hisses, smirking as the other boy grumbles and squirms, mess of hair poking out from his cocoon of blankets. Draco ignores the glare sent his way and instead continues to the bathroom.

When he reenters the dorm room Harry is sitting up, glasses placed on his face, and glaring at nothing as he evidently tries to become fully cognizant. “Our schedules are in,” Draco says, far more chipper than he usually is in the mornings, and he snatches Harry’s own schedule to pass it to him. Harry’s glare drops and he instead looks at the parchment in sleepy curiosity.

“Potions first,” the messy-haired boy mumbles, voice scratchy from sleep, and Draco sits down on his own bed to look at their classes.

It looked like they would have Potions first thing in the morning Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, with Friday’s running for two periods instead of just one. It also looked like they would be sharing their classes with the Gryffindors, which immediately perked Draco’s interest, except… “It says we won’t begin until Friday…”

“Longer class,” Harry yawns, not even covering his mouth, “Easier intro. Plus, mom said she’d be busy helping Dumbledore with something the first few days of classes.”

“Oh?” That had Draco curious, wondering what secret projects might go down in a place like Hogwarts. But Harry just shrugs, not knowing what it could mean. They look back at the schedule. Herbology is the next class they’ll have today, which Draco hopes he will find calming like tending to the gardens back home, and after that is Charms then Transfiguration. 

“Oh no,” Harry suddenly groans, making Draco look up. The other boy seems to have finally begun to fully wake up, eyes more alert as he looks at the schedule in dread. “We have History of Magic first thing tomorrow morning…”

“Is that bad? Why is that bad?” Draco questions, looking between his schedule and Harry, concerned.

“Dad says it’s so boring,” Harry answers, sounding miserable.

“Then we get some extra sleep in,” comes a muffled, agitated voice from Theodore’s bed and they look over to see him glaring at them, still laying down. “Which I would quite like to have considering we don’t have a first period today, so shut up and get lost already.”

Draco arches a brow and looks back over at Harry, who sighs and rolls his eyes before getting out of bed and starting to get ready for the day, this time in silence. When the other boy comes out of the bathroom, his hair only a slightly less tangled mess, and robes with Slytherin emblem and green trimmings over his uniform, Draco slides off the bed, ready to go to breakfast. Harry stops him, however, and quickly hustles past him and crouches by Draco’s bed. A second later he’s standing back up, Muddy coiling lazily around his hands, and he hurries over to set her on top of Theodore’s covers.

Draco and Harry quickly leave after that, trying to keep their snickering subdued as they slip through the common room, where a small splattering of students are already sitting about, half asleep as they try to start their day. It feels remarkably homey, despite how otherworldly the atmosphere is, and Draco half-wishes they could just sit around in here for a while, but his stomach says otherwise.

As they make their way up to the Great Hall for breakfast, however, Draco notices Harry getting tenser and tenser. “I doubt your friends are going to be upset with you, you know,” Draco sighs when the tension wafting off the boy feels palpable.

“You don’t know that,” Harry immediately retorts, hands flexing at his sides, and Draco rolls his eyes.

“Guess not, I don’t know them, but I highly doubt it,” he says then shoots a glance sideways when Harry says nothing. The boy’s green eyes are huge and staring straight ahead as they walk, his lips thin, and he’s pale like he was after he’d been sorted. Draco tries not to groan. He really wasn’t the person for this. “Look, when we get there how about we just sit at the Gryffindor table, okay? I want to see Hermione anyway.”

Harry glances at him, movements too sharp, before he forces himself to release a burst of air from his chest. “That sounds good,” he agrees and Draco nods once. “You know, Draco… You’re a lot nicer than I’d thought you’d be.”

“Take that back. How dare you; I am not nice,” the blonde says, voice deadpan and he turns unhappy eyes on Harry. The boy smiles and holds up his hands in surrender, which Draco finds satisfactory enough. He doesn’t get a chance to ask what Harry _did_ expect him to act like, though, for they finally walk out into the Entrance Hall where a familiar head of bushy hair is waiting for them.

“Draco! Finally!” Hermione calls, having been standing right in front of the doors to the Great Hall, and she hurries over, wrapping Draco up into a quick hug before stepping back and smiling. “I’ve been waiting for you. Oh, good, you aren’t alone. I’d hate for you to not make any new friends without me. How was your first night? What are Slytherin’s dorms like? Are you excited for classes? Would you like to sit together for breakfast?”

Beside him Harry has gone wide-eyed and is looking between the two friends, baffled at Hermione’s ceaseless questions and demands. Draco, on the other hand, waits through it with practiced familiarity before going over what she’d said in order. “How dare you insinuate I cannot make friends without you. Yes, I slept quite well. It is cool and the windows look out under the lake. I am incredibly excited, much as you are. And, yes, I would like that. Could Harry join us at your table?”

Harry’s gaze flicks to him in awe and some apprehension, but Hermione is already talking. “Of course! Come on, let’s compare schedules.” They are both forced to hurry after the witch when she spins around and marches towards the Great Hall like lightning, but when they pass through the doors Harry freezes. Draco makes it a few more steps in before looking back in confusion. The boy was bug-eyed again.

“Quit that,” Draco says firmly, marching back over and taking ahold of Harry’s sleeve. The boy’s green eyes flick to him before going back to stare at the Gryffindor table. Hermione had gone on ahead and sat down, leaving space to her side, and across from her a few seats down sat Ron Weasley with a few other boys their age. “Quit going in your head like that. Just go talk to your friend and it’ll be fine.”

Harry audibly gulps, but thankfully nods and begins the stiff process of walking towards his friend. Draco sighs and walks at a normal, quicker pace down the other side of the table before plopping down beside Hermione.

“Everything alright?” the girl asks, glancing over as Harry continues his snail pace.

“Yeah,” Draco rolls his eyes, “Just trouble in paradise.” The blonde is momentarily distracted as he observes the breakfast options. The tables were covered in food similar in style to the feast from last night, but not as bounteous. Still, Draco piles his plate with eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast with jam. “He’s worried his friend won’t like him anymore because he’s Slytherin now.”

“Ronald Weasley?” Hermione questions for clarity and Draco nods. He’s interested why the girl’s face suddenly sours with a vicious pout. “I have only been here one day, but I already do not like that boy,” she announces, putting her nose high into the air, and Draco turns more fully towards her, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh?” he drawls, “Do tell.”

“He’s is loud and obnoxious, for one,” she begins, but it seems Harry has finally gotten close enough for Ron, and a few of the other Weasley’s, to notice him and the youngest redhead is jumping up.

“Harry!” Ron says excitedly, and especially loudly, and when Draco looks back at Hermione she has an expression that says, ‘See? Told you so.’

Harry seems momentarily baffled when Ron hugs him, but quickly hugs him back, some of his unease falling away as he’s dragged to the table to sit. “You doing alright, mate? Those snakes haven’t messed with you, have they?” Ron demands and his twin brothers come to sit on Harry’s opposite side, both grinning brightly at the dark-haired boy.

“No! Of course not,” Harry is quick to assure, waving his hands around in some kind of motion to hopefully calm everyone down.

“Can’t believe that hat,” Ron continues in a grumble, cheeks turning pink in his dissatisfaction, “Throwing you in that house.”

“Calm down, Ron,” says one of the twins, smirking.

“Yeah! Or you’ll go grey faster than Percy,” says the other, also smirking. It made it near impossible to tell them apart, but there had to be a way and Draco wondered if he could figure it out.

“They really aren’t that bad, guys,” Harry mumbles, eyes flicking to Draco across the table. “Draco’s been really nice to have around, too.” A whole bunch of eyes suddenly turn to Draco, having only just then realized he had sat down at their table, and the blonde sits up a little straighter.

“Here we go,” Hermione mumbles beside him just as the Gryffindors seem to converge.

“So you’re really him, then?” demands a boy with sandy hair and Draco only just remembers his name was Seamus Finnigan from the sorting. “You’re really The-Boy-Who-Vanished? In the flesh?”

“What else would I be in? Pudding?” Draco remarks with a dry look, and Seamus has some decency to turn pink and snap his mouth shut.

“Did you really kill You-Know-Who, then? In just one, fell swoop?” asks Lavender Brown a few seats down from Hermione, and the bushy-haired girl groans.

“I mean… I was a baby at the time, so…” Draco continues with his dry, sarcastic tone and expression, not allowing himself to show how flustered he’s slowly getting from the attention.

An older boy Draco doesn’t know who has plopped down beside the twins begins to snicker, wheezing out, “That’s a great image, though. Just a baby fighting off the darkest wizard of our time.” The twins also begin to laugh, apparently friends with the boy.

“Ask the right person and they’ll tell you _he’s_ the darkest wizard, now,” comments Dean Thomas, eyes steady as he looks at Draco. He doesn’t seem aggressive, but it still shuts up the table and makes Draco stiffen. Hermione has turned a nasty glare on Dean, but it’s Ron, surprisingly, of all people who speaks up.

“Hey, man, if Harry says he’s cool than let’s give him a chance.”

“He got sorted into Slytherin, too, though,” Seamus comments, not looking like he was trying to damn the boy, but rather like he was just throwing out a fact. It still made Harry stiffen and Draco narrow his eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with Slytherin,” the blonde says sharply. It was only the second day and he was already having to defend his house’s honor. This felt near comical if it wasn’t so serious.

“Why are you both sitting over here, then?” Seamus questions, arching a brow, and Draco makes an overdramatic motion at Hermione beside him, who has miraculously said nothing throughout this entire, ridiculous exchange.

“We wanted to sit with our friends. Are we breaking any rules?”

“No, they’re fine,” says an older ginger that must be another Weasley, sitting a way down the table. He looks to Draco and Harry for a moment, locking eyes with them each, before adding, “But don’t try and avoid your table either.”

“We weren’t,” Draco says defensively, his eyes flashing over to the Slytherin table anyway. None of the tables are as full as last night, most students either still asleep or already heading for their first class, but Draco still sees some familiar faces. Sophie Roper has fallen asleep at the table and her cheek is smooshed against her plate of hash browns, Marcus Flint is talking with a small group of fit-looking students, all older, appearing to be trying to solve some puzzle, William Ward is quietly eating beside a very animated Gemma Farley, and Millicent and Pansy are sitting together, the former shooting nasty looks over at the Gryffindor table.

“You have to admit, though,” Ron begins to speak again, glancing back at the Slytherin table before facing their own group of students. “Most of Slytherin is a bunch of elitists, if anything.”

“How can you tell?” Draco questions, but this time it looks like the twins are actually agreeing with their brother.

“It’s true,” says one of the twins, the one sitting farthest from Harry, “They prefer purebloods and call muggleborns awful things all the time.”

Draco shares a startled look with Hermione at that before the witch is asking, “All of them do?” She sounded a little shaky and Draco couldn’t blame her. He certainly hoped the majority of his house wasn’t like that. They’d seemed pretty accepting, if cautiously so, of muggleborns when they’d been eating last night.

“Their quidditch team definitely does,” the other twin says with a shrug, seeing this as some normal, if unfortunate, occurrence. 

“So, not the whole house…” Draco narrows his eyes, “Just the loudest of them?” Now he’s scowling, jabbing his fork into his breakfast roughly, and he turns his glare down to his plate. “Sure, let’s just blame the whole house, then, right?”

“Well…” begins the first twin, “it’s not like any of the others try and speak up against it, either.”

The table jumps when Harry suddenly slams his goblet down. He looks rather ill, Draco notes, and everyone is looking at him as he forces his gaze towards Hermione. “You wanted to talk about schedules, right? What are the classes like for you all?” His voice is tight and an obvious attempt at stopping the mounting argument before it can reach catastrophic levels, but Draco will take it, and so will Hermione.

“Oh! Well, as you must know we share Potions on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday,” she begins, forced cheer in her voice as she begins to recount her schedule. Tentatively Ron joins in, asking Harry why they have to wait until Friday for that, and Harry tells Ron the same thing he told Draco.

Eventually talk of schedules pitters off and Draco and Hermione fall into their own conversation, murmuring about their first night and what they thought of their houses.

“We live in Gryffindor tower, of course, and you would think that would mean it would be rather chilly up there, but the common room can get unbearably warm,” Hermione says at one point. “Once you crack open a window, however, it feels divine.”

“I bet it’ll be great in the winter,” Draco notes, nibbling at the remains of his bacon. “It’s so cold in the dungeons, and I love it. You can see the underside of the lake and everything.”

“Have you seen the giant squid?” asks the twins’ friend, Lee Jordan, who was trying to keep up with as many conversations as possible.

“I saw a shadow,” Draco admits weakly, “It was kind of big and long like a squid, but I’m not certain.”

Sometime after that they are joined by three more Gryffindors, all of whom Draco feels quite happy to see, despite himself. Neville, Vincent, and Greg enter the hall and move to join Draco and Hermione’s little bubble. Neville wiggles into a spot on the other side of Hermione while Greg and Vincent plop down gracelessly beside Draco.

“Good morning,” Greg greets, smiling, before hurrying to pile breakfast onto his plate.

“Good morning,” Draco replies, nodding to him then nodding to Vincent. The smaller of the two smiles a little brighter before raising his hands and doing a few, quick motions. Draco stares at him in confusion.

“Oh! That was ‘How are you?’” Hermione says eagerly, leaning around Draco to wave at Vincent before doing a motion with one hand - with her thumb up she moves it away from her chest then makes a small arch over her chest with the same hand - and says, “Good morning!”

“I’m doing well,” Draco finally replies, brows furrowing, then asks, “How do I say that in sign language?” That quickly morphs their conversation into Draco’s first impromptu sign language lesson, Vincent and Greg seeming to be overjoyed to share the information. Some of the other Gryffindors at the table even join in, the twins managing to make everyone laugh when they start making up signs for spells.

All in all, it is a great start to Draco’s day, even if the beginning was a little rough. He still has plenty he wants to say in defense of his house, but he knows now isn’t the time, especially when he has so little to prove them all wrong. He has only been here for two days, after all. That was hardly enough time to erase stereotypes and reputations that had been building for centuries.

Draco’s breakfast ends shortly after the owl post arrives. Multiple kids get letters from their families, giving well wishes for the coming school year, and Draco gets to finally meet Hedwig, Harry’s beautiful, snowy owl. She carries a letter from Harry’s father, which he quickly stuffs in his robes, a dreadful look in his eyes, and Draco decides he shouldn’t push it.

“That reminds me,” Hermione says, turning to Draco. “Could I borrow Tootsie? I wanted to send a letter back to my parents.”

“What do I get out of it?” Draco hums, smirking when his friend frowns at him.

“You can borrow my copy of _Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes_ for a week. I know you said you were interested in creating new spells, so perhaps this could help,” Hermione offers, accustomed by now to having to make deals with her friend. It was never over anything serious, but Draco loved seeing her get frustrated with him.

“Deal,” he agrees and then they make their way out of the hall with a good-bye to a few of the Gryffindors that had been talking with them. They begin walking in the direction of the owlery, taking their time since they don’t have their first period class, and continue chatting.

Soon their talk turns into more of a rant, however, over their grievances with some of their fellow housemates. “I don’t think Slytherin is full of elitists, but that Millicent Bulstrode is certainly a piece of work. Theodore Nott, too,” Draco huffs.

“They’re the kinds of people that keep your house’s bad reputation afloat,” Hermione agrees, nodding.

“I’ll admit, there aren’t many muggleborns in Slytherin, only three, but they seem perfectly fine with them. I doubt anyone would want to mess with that Vivian character.”

“I certainly wouldn’t mind having her around to knock some sense into some of my housemates,” now it is Hermione’s turn to huff, crossing her arms and looking rather put out as she says, “Lavender Brown is nothing but a big gossip, and it doesn’t look like Parvati Patil is going to help any. At least Sally Smith and Sally-Anne Perks seem decent.”

“Sally and Sally-Anne?” Draco repeats, arching a brow at the coincidental names.

“They’re already getting teased by some of the boys, so don’t you start either,” Hermione warns, glaring over at the blonde, and he raises his hands in surrender. “And speaking of boys!” Hermione’s voice was rising, and it almost seemed like her hair was puffing up as she got more frustrated. “Neville is fine, even if he keeps his distance, and Greg and Vincent are kind, young men… But the other three? They’re so… They’re such… BOYS!”

Draco is smirking again, forcing down his laughter as Hermione puffs out her cheeks and flails her arms in obvious frustration. Before he can make any comment Hermione is plowing on. “That Ronald Weasley is the worst, too! He seems completely incapable of taking anything seriously.”

“You haven’t even known these people for twenty-four hours, yet,” Draco says quietly, voice strained from held laughter.

“I am well aware, thank you, and I am already ready to strangle someone with my own hair,” Hermione hisses.

Draco arches a brow at that. “Your hair?”

“I heard one of them make a comment about it. It seems a fitting weapon.”

“I think you’ve been hanging out with me a little too much, Granger…”

Hermione glances at him and seems to compose herself, shoulders relaxing and angry lines on her face smoothing out. She looks pointedly horrified at her outburst, too. “Oh my, you may be right…”

Draco finally allows himself to laugh, earning a glare from the girl at his side.

They eventually make it to the owlery and send off both Hermione’s letter to her parents and a letter she bullies Draco into writing for his foster family. When they decide to head to the library next, wanting to see what collection of books the school has, they momentarily get sidetracked by a cat with bright, yellow eyes, sandy fur, and skeletal build. Draco knows Hermione always had a soft spot for cats and they stop to try and pet her. Because Hermione loves cats. Totally not Draco…

Turns out, however, the cat is named Mrs. Norris and belongs to the nasty caretaker, Mr. Filch. He is particularly unhappy to see students out and about when they should be in class, despite Hermione trying to explain their first period is free today, but Draco manages to worm their way out of a punishment by complimenting the cat profusely and referring to the bitter man with an overbearing amount of respect. They manage to slip away, finally, to the library with only a warning and a glare.

They eventually make it to the library and for a while simply look around, getting a feel for all of the aisles and categories. The restricted section catches Draco’s eye, but they don’t linger long, gathering up books they can skim through, sitting together in silence, and Draco can’t help but think of all the times they went to the public library together back home. He catches himself smiling despite himself and doesn’t feel like trying to cover it up. Not this time.

.oOo.

Classes aren’t what Draco really expected, but in the best kind of way. They are work, lots of work, and Draco feels like any time he succeeds at something that he’s earned it. 

He feels comfortable in the atmosphere of Herbology but can tell he will need to focus on studying all the flora they go over. Charms excites him and he always stays after class to talk to Flitwick, asking questions that wouldn’t have fit into that class’s lesson. Still, he recognizes he will need to practice his spells regularly if he wants to keep up. History of Magic is… frustrating, in that the subject matter intrigues Draco, but Professor Binns, the ghostly teacher, is so monotone and long-winded it leaves Draco nodding off constantly. Defense Against the Dark Arts is also frustrating, but more because Professor Quirrell is just so incompetent, filling the room with garlic and barely managing to teach them straight out of the textbook.

Thus far Draco’s favorite class is Transfiguration. He adores the subject and finds McGonagall to be by far the most competent of all his teachers up to this point. She is clear and precise, stern but patient, and capable of describing each of her lessons in varying ways to differing students. It also doesn’t hurt that Draco has all those extra books she suggested for him and on their first lesson Draco manages to be the only Slytherin first year to turn his match into a needle.

Transfiguration also leads into an unexpected… not friendship, but acquaintanceship, certainly. Sophie Roper, one of the Slytherin first year girls, is apparently intrigued with human transfiguration, a complicated subject they won’t even begin to look at in classes until sixth year, but she is fascinated, and in turn so is Draco. Every day she transfigures her dirty blonde hair into a new style, which she always wears with pride, but it seems her interest can only go so far, and she struggles with the class as much as any student. When Draco offers to lend her some of his extra books all he asks is she teach him her hair trick and they are quick… acquaintances.

In each class, even their Herbology class with Ravenclaw on Tuesdays and Thursdays or their Charms class with Hufflepuff on Wednesdays, Harry sticks by Draco’s side. Draco suspects it is because they’re the only ones who knew each other prior to their sorting, but it does begin to concern the blonde.

He likes Harry. He’s an emotional boy, prone to spontaneity, with a wicked sense of humor that sneaks its way out in unexpected times. He’s smiley and encouraging, seeming interested in Charms but Draco also catches him deeply reading their Defense textbook regularly. 

The thing is, though, he doesn’t even try to connect with the other Slytherins. Draco can’t blame him for Theodore, Millicent, and Pansy, but everyone else seems fine in their year. Every meal the boy drags Draco over to the Gryffindor table, looking frantic until they sit down and he’s talking to Ron. Draco certainly doesn’t mind talking to Hermione, but he doesn’t think they should be avoiding their own house’s table so much. Judging by the looks he gets from Percy - that’s the prefect Weasley - and some of their own house Draco suspects he’s not the only one.

It is on Wednesday night during dinner that Draco finally puts his foot down. Quite literally.

“OW!” Harry yelps, hopping away from where Draco stomped on his foot as he began to lead them towards the Gryffindor table. He looks at Draco with wide eyes. “What was that for?”

“We’re sitting at our table tonight,” Draco says firmly, crossing his arms. “Or, at least, I am, and I would quite like it if you joined us and stopped avoiding our own house.”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” Harry says, looking away and scowling.

“You’re certainly avoiding my eyes,” Draco notes, and Harry pouts as he forces himself to lock gazes with the blonde, but he says nothing and Draco sighs. “Look, no one is angry with you, they’ve all made that clear. What are you so frightened of?” Draco’s eyes thin suspiciously as he thinks of something else. “That note from your father. On Monday. Was he a jerk to you?”

“No!” Harry is quick to reply this time, looking panicked, then cringes when it draws some of the other students’ attentions. The black-haired wizard glances around nervously before grabbing Draco’s upper arm and dragging him back out into the Entrance Hall. “It was nothing like that,” he whispers and Draco stays quiet to let him gather himself and continue. “He said everything my mom said… He said he loved me and he didn’t blame me.”

“That’s good,” Draco replies when Harry fades off. It was very good. Draco had been happy to see Lily expressing so much support for her son, bringing him sweets nearly every lunch, and embarrassing him with kisses to his cheek every chance she got. Draco hadn’t been sure about James Potter, however. He’d only met him once after all and he wasn’t at Hogwarts to cover his son with affection. It was good to hear that his letter had been filled with positive messages, then.

“Yeah, I guess…” Harry shrugs, looking mildly distressed as he keeps glancing at the doors to the Great Hall, looking frantic like he always does when they hurry to the Gryffindor table and everything begins to slip into place for Draco.

“You think they’re going to leave you behind… don’t you?”

“What?!” Harry yelps, even higher than when Draco had stomped on his foot, and when he opens his mouth to begin denying the claim Draco gives him a withering look that shuts him up.

“I don’t know them as well as you do,” he admits, crossing his arms, “but they don’t seem the type to abandon someone they care about at the drop of a sorting hat.” Harry’s expression switches to an unimpressed scowl at Draco attempt at humor and the boy waves him off. “Shut up, I’m a comedic genius. Anyway, you’re a Slytherin,” he reaches out and pokes at the green emblem on Harry’s robes, “Don’t try to avoid that. And if any of those Gryffindors abandon you just for that, then they weren’t worth your time to begin with, don’t you think?”

Harry falls silent, looking down at his shoes as he scuffs them on the stone floor, and Draco rolls his eyes skyward. “Alright, well, whatever, I’m going to go eat dinner with Slytherin for once. I won’t force you to, but I would quite like it if you came with me, seeing as you’re my only friend over there.” With that Draco turns away and marches back into the Great Hall, back straight and stride confident. He offers a nod towards Hermione when he sees her, and she smiles back as he makes his way to his house’s table.

Half way over a presence pops up at his side and he gulps down his startled shriek. Harry looks hesitant and keeps glancing at Draco and the Slytherin table nervously.

“Am… Am I really your friend?” he whispers, just above the noise of the hall, but quiet enough only Draco can hear him.

The blonde looks at him with an arched brow. “I quite thought that was obvious.”

Harry shrugs, helpless. “I worried you may just see me as some guy following around The-Boy-Who-Lived. A shadow, or a fan…”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

Harry shakes his head, messy hair bouncing with the movement. “I think you’re pretty cool, and funny, and smart. I wanted to hang out with you.”

Draco looks at the other boy for a few breathes, eyes searching as the other fidgets, before he smiles weakly and bumps shoulders with Harry, making him look up. “I enjoy hanging out with you, too, and yes, I think we’re friends,” he says honestly, and Harry’s face is quick to bloom into a bright, happy grin.

Harry is less frantic as they sit at the Slytherin table after that, but he still sticks by Draco’s side. For a while it is only them, but after a few more moments Sophie is sitting across the table - her hair a short bob today - and speaking lowly to Draco about their last Transfiguration class, asking him what he visualized while changing his match into his needle. She’d managed to change her match into metal by then, but still couldn’t get the right shape, while Draco was on to changing his needle back into a match.

While they talk, eating as they do, Gemma walks by and claps a hand against both boys’ shoulders, saying how happy she is to see them there, before heading over to sit with some of her friends. A few other Slytherins give them dirty or searching looks, but they are mostly left alone. Even Theodore and Millicent keep away, which Draco considers a victory, and they eat their dinner in peace.

.oOo.

Draco peers nervously over the edge of the Astronomy tower, the rooftops of the rest of the castle far below. He liked heights, usually. He enjoyed climbing and relaxing in tree branches or atop statues. It was a habit Hermione and the Nubbles despised, but he enjoyed quite a lot.

This was a whole new kind of high.

“Don’t you love it?” Harry says wistfully at his side, also peering over the edge, but his eyes are locked on the horizon, and Draco scowls at him.

“He’s always been a bit of a heights junky,” Ron says, a few paces to the side, looking at his best friend with an arched brow.

“No kidding,” Draco comments dryly, backing away from the ledge.

Astronomy was held at midnight in the Astronomy Tower every Wednesday and was, to Draco’s knowledge, the only class that taught all four houses at once. It made sense, since all the other days were probably for all the other years, and the tower was large enough, but it still felt like it had to be quite the undertaking for their teacher. Thus far all of Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw were already there and they were just waiting for Hufflepuff and Professor Sinistra.

Draco was curious about Sinistra, he had to admit. After the Welcoming Feast he had wondered about his Head of House. The rumors about her weren’t all that spectacular, mostly just factual comments that she had attended Hogwarts first then transferred to Uagadou in Uganda or that she was a very emotionless and strict teacher. There were whispers she was an Animagus, which Draco was immediately interested in, especially when he found out McGonagall was a confirmed one, but no one knew for certain with Professor Sinistra.

She was altogether a mystery in Draco’s book, but hardly seemed threatening based on everything he’d heard.

So why had his chest hurt when she’d looked at him?

A few more moments pass, Draco moving to stands with Hermione and Neville, the latter keeping right in the center of the tower and away from the edge, and they quietly watch everyone around them. Draco recognizes the Patil twins talking together, Lavender standing nearby, and Greg and Vincent keep moving between looking over the edge and asking Neville if he wants to join them. It seems after their first introductions at the Hogwarts Express the two, large wizards had taken a particular liking to Neville and Hermione, but seem particularly fond of the boy. Draco suspects it is because they share a dorm. That or they want to protect the chubby, cowardly boy. Draco wouldn’t be surprised.

Finally, the Hufflepuffs arrive, looking like they’d all sprinted up here as fast as they could, and Draco wonders why. He has no time to ask any questions, however, because only a moment later Professor Sinistra is gliding into the space. She is wearing a different set of robes than at the Welcoming Feast, but they are still dark with stars along the hems, her pointed hat the same color and covered in constellations. They seem to twinkle as if they had been plucked from the sky themselves.

“Hello class,” the witch begins, stepping to the center of the circular space. There is no obvious front, nor desk in sight, but everyone still turns to her and offers their full attention. She looks over them all, eyes calculating but devoid of any major emotion. She seems to be looking at every single person, looking them over, and her eyes linger momentarily on Draco. He stiffens, expecting a new surge of pain, but when nothing happens and she moves on he is left confused, but relieved.

“Good, everyone is here,” Sinistra finally says.

“Did she just count roll from memory?” whispers a nearby student, awed, and Draco can’t blame them.

“Yes,” Sinistra says firmly, having heard the whisper, and it sufficiently shuts everyone else up. “Does everyone have their telescope and books with them?” she questions and there is a murmur of affirmatives. Even Neville has remembered his, but Draco suspects that might be with the assistance of Hermione or even Greg and Vincent. “Good,” she glances out towards the sky, dark eyes reflecting the moonlight in such a way she doesn’t look entirely natural, “We will give the clouds some time to clear. For now I will go over what I expect of you, here.”

The students hadn’t been kidding when they’d said Professor Sinistra was an emotionless woman, but Draco was pleased to find out she was not monotone, either. He did not find himself nodding off like he did with Professor Binn, instead enraptured with her as she explained the basic syllabus for the year.

They would be going over the stars, constellations, and movements of planets and how they could affect magic. Most affects were subtle, but for some practices and spells it was important to know the positions of the celestial bodies. It was also helpful culturally, as they would be going over the stories behind constellations in some cases.

“What is the difference between this class and the other courses taught here at Hogwarts?” Sinistra suddenly questions, blank eyes looking over the students. The question seems to come out of nowhere, like the elder witch hadn’t taken a breath between her explanation and it, and it startles a good number of students.

Not enough, however, for Seamus to mumble, “It’s held at the worst time ever?”

In the silence everyone hears him and Sinistra turns her gaze on him and stares at him. She doesn’t look angry, she doesn’t look like anything, but she stares for so long the boy quickly grows embarrassed and looks away, mumbling an apology. Sinistra looks back to the rest of the students.

Hermione finally raises her hand and Sinistra’s gaze snaps to her. “Miss. Granger.”

“It is the only course with a Muggle counterpart?” Hermione offers, looking worried. It wasn’t often she didn’t have a confident answer in something, but this felt more like trivia than anything, so Draco couldn’t blame her.

He also could admit he had probably looked at his Astronomy book the least, having been more interested in all of the spells and magic he would get to be learning here.

“Correct. Five points to Gryffindor,” Sinistra says simply and Hermione lets out a sigh of relief. “What are the origins of the name ‘Astronomy’?” Oh, she wasn’t messing around, was she? She was just jumping right into the next question.

At least this one Draco felt a bit more confident with after looking into Latin, and some Greek, when researching spell names and incantations.

He raises his hand and Professor Sinistra’s head flicks to him, staring, and he flinches at how off-putting it is. “Mr. Malfoy.”

“It, uh… It is Greek, Professor. Astron meaning stars, and nomos meaning law,” he offers, voice shaky, and Sinistra blinks once. Had she blinked at all up to that point?

“Correct. Five points to Slytherin. What is the difference between Astronomy and Astrology?” That one is answered by Padma, earning Ravenclaw five points, and a few more questions are thrown around, each correct answer earning that student’s house five points.

“This final question will earn no points, but will be a good segue into the lesson,” Sinistra eventually says, “Who here is named after a constellation?”

Surprisingly it is Harry, who is still standing near the edge with Ron, who raises his hand, his green eyes flicking towards Draco before locking back on their teacher, who is staring at him. “Is it Draco?”

“Correct,” Sinistra responds and Draco’s eyes widen in surprise. Wait, he was named after a constellation? He’d always just thought his name meant dragon, which was awesome, but nothing beyond that. His confusion must be obvious, for Sinistra looks to him then begins to speak. “The Black family is known for naming their children after constellations, a practice which I can respect. Now I must ask you all to take up your telescopes and find a spot you can see the sky comfortably and we will begin our first lesson on stars and constellations.”

Draco doesn’t move as the other students bustle around him to find a spot to begin. Hermione, at his side, grips his arm and he looks towards her. “Are you okay?” she whispers, and he finds he can’t say anything. He just stares.

Then Harry is slipping up to his other side, looking concerned as well, and whispers, “I’m sorry… I thought you would have known. My godfather’s a Black, you see. Sirius.”

“The Black family… I thought I was a Malfoy,” Draco finally hisses, brows pinching more and more in confusion.

“You are,” Harry nods, glancing up to make sure they haven’t been caught dilly dallying. “But your mom was a Black first. Uncle Sirius mentioned it before…”

“This Sirius person…” Draco cuts in, feeling tense and nauseous, “Am I… related to him?”

“I…” beside him Harry glances over at Hermione, looking worried, before he nods, “Yeah, I’d imagine. I think cousins?”

“He… Can I…?” Draco can’t seem to find the right words, spluttering desperately, but Sinistra cuts him off.

“Please find a spot,” she repeats, voice still blank, “You may converse later.”

Harry looks at Draco apologetically before he moves back to his spot he’d already claimed by Ron, occasionally glancing over at the blonde with pinched, worried eyes. Slowly Draco takes a seat on the ground, like most everyone else has done, and Hermione sits beside him, close but thankfully not saying anything. Greg and Vincent also move towards them, sitting nearby.

The clouds have yet to fully dissipate, but aren’t as thick, and Sinistra raises a hand and waves it once through the air, the clouds moving out of the way like she was simply wiping them off a window. And without a single word or wand. She then turns back to the class and begins her lesson on the stars and a few choice constellations.

.oOo.

After Astronomy the students mill down the tower’s stairs, sluggish and ready for bed, but Draco lingers with Harry. Hermione and Ron offer to stay, but they both urge them to head out. Sinistra walks past them, looking at them blankly for a long, few moments, then says, “You may stay for ten minutes. Then please return to bed.” She then leaves as well, leaving them alone.

“Sirius Black,” Draco says immediately, not mincing words. He had had all class to prepare himself emotionally and he wasn’t going to wait for his newfound bravado to dissipate. “He’s my family.”

“To my knowledge he was actually disowned,” Harry offers weakly, looking apologetic and concerned at once. “He, uh, didn’t care for his family’s traditions and rebelled. Ended up in Gryffindor with my dad, too.”

“Disowned or not… why did he never reach out to me?” Draco tried to keep the hurt from his voice, but he knows he isn’t entirely successful when Harry flinches and steps towards him, hands out like he was dealing with a spooked animal.

“How could he? You’re The-Boy-Who-Vanished. No one knew where you went or who took you away,” Harry reasons and Draco hates how much that makes sense. How could anyone have found him? McGonagall had said that even when they had finally found him again, they had still kept him a secret.

Now his hurt moved. He couldn’t be angry at this Sirius person, could he? But he also couldn’t bring himself to be angry at McGonagall. She’d said she had been against it, but others more powerful than her, others Draco did not know, had ruled otherwise.

Instead, now Draco just felt hurt.

“Are… are there any other family members I have… out there?” he whispers, looking at Harry pleadingly and the other boy looks taken aback and then apologetic again. Draco’s stomach drops.

“I don’t know of many,” Harry admits, “Sirius doesn’t talk about them much, but most are… most aren’t good people…” Draco stares at Harry, pleading him silently to explain, and the other boy sighs anxiously. “A lot of them… sided with You-Know-Who during the war…” Draco stiffens, eyes widening.

“They sided with the guy that killed their family?” he demands, frantic.

“The way Sirius says it… they didn’t much care about family. More about status, which was usually linked to family by default…” Harry explains and then looks away. “There was… Andromeda Tonks. She would have been your mom’s sister. Sirius mentioned her, she was disowned for who she married, and…” Harry bites his lip then looks up at Draco, eyes wet and sad, making the blonde take a step back. “Her and her husband were killed by You-Know-Who’s followers after… after your parents…”

Draco stares at Harry, silent and still, uncertain what the proper way to respond would be. So, any relatives he might have had either were evil, dead, or hadn’t known where he was. It made him feel very cold inside and he quickly smashes down whatever that would evolve into, leaving him quiet and blank, much like Sinistra.

“Draco,” Harry whispers, stepping closer, grabbing his arm and looking at him desperately, “Please says something. You can… you can cry, if you need. I won’t judge.” From the looks of it Harry seemed more likely to cry than Draco, but he didn’t say that.

“It’s fine,” he replies, too sharply, and shakes his head. “It sucks, but I can’t miss someone I never met.”

“Do you want to write a letter to Sirius?” Harry offers, still sounding desperate, “You can use Hedwig, she knows the best way to him and--”

“Harry,” Draco cuts him off, again too sharp, and he takes a breath. “Yes, I would like that, but not now. Can you… can you leave me alone for a little bit? I just need a moment.”

Harry stares at him, looking lost and emotional, like he’s taking on all the feelings Draco refuses to feel, but he eventually agrees and slips away, taking his things as he descends the tower and leaves Draco alone.

The stars are beautiful, Draco realizes despite everything, and for a while he just stands there, staring and breathing. He looks over the constellations they’d just learned in class before his eyes land on Draco, his constellation, and his chest tightens.

“Your ten minutes are up,” Sinistra says behind him, having apparently come back up when Draco had his back turned, and the blonde looks back, too drained to feel startled. He looks at her and she stares at him with her blank, calculating eyes. She almost looks like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle, but it is hard to tell and Draco doesn’t feel up to deciphering anything.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and goes to collect his things. His notes were lacking for this class, so he decides he’ll need to talk to Hermione about that later and hope she doesn’t mind him copying hers.

When he stands up straight and turns back to his Head of House, she has turned her gaze skyward, eyes reflecting the moonlight like they had before. “The Astronomy Tower is off limits outside of classes,” she says, voice neither stern nor conversational. It simply is. “But I find coming up here to be quite calming,” she continues and Draco’s brows furrow in confusion. She looks down at him and for the first time there is an odd twinkle in her eye, but that could just be the stars. “IF one is working on extra Astronomy work, of course.”

Draco watches in stunned silence as his teacher turns away and goes about fixing up the tower space, cleaning off her own telescope and ignoring her student completely. Did she… just offer Draco an excuse to sneak up here? He wasn’t sure… but she had a point. The Astronomy Tower was peaceful, so long as he didn’t linger too much at the edge. It would be… nice to have some place for him to hide away. He’d always had one back home.

He watches Sinistra for a long moment, but she seems done with him, so he wishes her a good night and quickly slips away, baffled but content after the strange exchange.

.oOo.

Friday morning arrives in spectacular fashion. 

With everyone’s long awaited Potions class finally taking place, Harry quickly becomes every first year’s best friend. He’s stopped in the Common Room before they can even make their way to breakfast, Sophie and Tracey demanding he tells them everything his mother will expect from them, and he flounders for a good while until Draco drags him away. Somewhere in the background he hears Millicent laugh at their expense and Theodore sneer something nasty about Lily.

They’re out the door before Harry can do anything foolish to them.

At breakfast they sit at the Slytherin table, but that hardly saves them.

Hermione and Ron occasionally come to eat with them there, like how Harry and Draco sometimes eat at their table, but this time first years from all of the houses flock towards them. As it turns out Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw also have a double potions together, but in the afternoon.

Harry looks absolutely overwhelmed, dragging both Ron and Draco closer to his sides like he can hide between them, and despite how funny it is Draco feels he’s had quite enough. It takes him a moment, but he finally manages to catch Vivian’s gaze, who is a few seats down their table, and she’s up and moving a moment later. The woman was protective of her house, the first years had learned quickly, and they knew they could go to her if they needed any backup, so long as they were willing to repay her later.

“Alright you twerps! I need a living target for my new invention! Who wants to help me… experiment?” she calls, voice booming and a crazed look in her green eyes and when the first years scatter in terror she chases after them with a maniacal laugh.

In the end the only non-Slytherins left are Hermione and Ron. They both look especially startled and lean away when Vivian returns, grinning, red hair wild. “Lemme borrow your CD player for my study session tomorrow and we’re even, Malf-y,” she says simply.

“Deal,” Draco nods, Harry already relaxing at his side, “And don’t call me Malf-y.”

“Sure thing, Drae-Drae!” Vivian walks away and Ron lets out a surprised laugh.

“Oh, no, that is so much worse,” the ginger cackles, his laughter only getting worse when Draco glares at him.

When the owls come flying in with their mail as they are finishing up their breakfast it is with the pleasant surprise that Tootsie is among them. She flies over them, dropping first an envelope in front of Hermione, then landing in front of her owner.

“Oh! It’s from mom and dad,” the girl says happily, quickly opening her mail, and Draco coo’s thankfully at Tootsie, the bird preening as he scratches her chest and offers her a piece of bacon.

Draco has an envelope too, thicker than Hermione’s because it has three, separate letters in it; one from both the Nubbles, one from Frederick, and one from Ada. The one from his foster parents is very straight forward, cold congratulations on his placement and demands to be informed on his schooling so far. Frederick’s is nearly identical, if longer winded and more self-important. Ada’s is entertaining, at least, listing how they’re all doing and how much she hates gardening since she’s sure those dang snakes are watching her and she doesn’t even know where one of them is, certain it will attack her in her sleep.

Draco decides he’ll tell her where Muddy is at a later date, smirking to himself.

“Hagrid wants to have tea today after classes,” Harry suddenly comments, and Draco looks over. Hedwig is currently poking around at her owner’s crumbs and Harry is reading over a crinkled sheaf of parchment. He looks up and glances to Ron, then Draco, smiling brightly. “He wants to catch up. Did you guys want to come?”

Ron immediately agrees and Draco, curious about the big man, eventually nods an affirmative. Hermione, however, glances over the boys before mumbling she has an essay to work on in the library tonight. Draco doesn’t know what essay she’s talking about - maybe only the Gryffindors had gotten it - but he doesn’t push as she finishes off her food and stands.

“Well, we better hurry to Potions if we don’t want to be late,” she announces and grudgingly Harry and Ron agree, standing as well. Draco is already up, excitement coursing through his veins as they make their way towards the dungeons. Potions, aka magic chemistry, here he comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I took a lot of liberties with the classes and schedules, seeing as they aren't very well explained in the books OR movies. I also used [this](http://shorm.tumblr.com/post/75864194091/hogwarts-schedule-masterpost-because-i-havent) as a base idea, but not strictly, if that helps anyone.
> 
> Anyway, hope everyone enjoyed the chapter and is having a good weekend!
> 
> Chapter Song: [Into the Stars - Tim Be Told](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LUi0XIJYxRo)


	8. We're Soarin', Flyin'

The Potions class was in the Dungeons, like the Slytherin dorms, a good distance away from any of the other classes. It was safest to keep the volatile subject separate from everything else, especially with how much more unpredictable the results could be.

The classroom was chilly, but Draco could see burners at every table where they would be placing their cauldrons and he had a feeling it would be warming up soon enough.

Hermione immediately took a seat at a table in the front and Draco joined her, while Harry and Ron took the table right behind them. Each table had room for two students and it seemed the perfect opportunity for them to sit with their inter-house friends.

Slowly, the rest of the Slytherin and Gryffindor first years began to file in. Greg and Vincent took a table together somewhere in the back, but when Hermione looked back at them disapprovingly they moved a few tables up.

“Leave them be,” Draco whispers to her, but he’s smirking, entertained by her silent command of the two, large boys. She quickly looks at him, hair flying around her at the swift movement, and glares.

“They have been struggling with some of the other classes. It would be best if they sat closer and applied themselves more thoroughly,” she retorts, nose up. As she’s speaking Neville, who had come in with Greg and Vincent, sits down at the table to the left of Harry and Ron’s. He catches Draco’s eye and shrugs powerlessly, obviously not knowing how to handle Hermione. A quick glance at Ron shows the redhead rolling his eyes.

Well, it seemed his bushy-headed friend had made a bit of a name for herself.

“Alright, sorry I said anything,” Draco says, turning back to his supplies to make sure they were all in order. His book was out along with a notebook and pen. He owned a quill, and ink, and parchment, but he really, really didn’t like using them. He had tried, but after struggling to keep up notes during multiple classes he’d given up. He had a spiral notebook for every subject and a pack of black ink pens for the year. Hermione still used her quill, because she was stubborn, but Draco didn’t miss some of her more envious glances at his familiar system.

Eventually the final students slipped into class, Seamus sitting down beside Neville while Dean took a seat beside Blaise, being the only other free spot in the class. For the most part everyone sat with someone from their house and Theodore and Millicent, sitting together, kept shooting Draco and Hermione, and Harry and Ron nasty looks and very obviously whispering to each other.

All whispers fell away, however, when the office door off the side of the classroom burst open and Lily came bustling in, a bundle of books and supplies in her arms. She beams brightly at her class, looking especially pleased at her son, before depositing her things on the front desk where a cauldron is already set up for herself.

“Gryffindor and Slytherin! So good to see you all bright and early in the morning,” Lily - Draco is going to have a rough time remembering to call her Professor Potter - greets them all, running her hands over her clothes to straighten them up. She isn’t wearing robes. Instead she is wearing jeans, a flowery, button up shirt, sneakers, and what looks like a Muggle lab coat. As she speaks she buttons up her coat, still smiling.

“Welcome to Potions, everyone. Let me get started with roll call,” she says, finally buttoning up the last button on her coat. She turns to her stack of papers and picks up a roll of parchment on the top. She goes down the list of names, marking each one when they are called, and Draco notes the only people she doesn’t call by last name are Harry and Ron. Harry makes sense, but it takes Draco a moment to realize that Lily has probably grown used to Ron over the years if he and her son are such good friends.

“Alright, now that that is out of the way,” Lily hums then sets the parchment aside once she’s done. She then begins braiding back her long, red hair, getting it out of her face. Hermione, beside him, hurries to do the same, her eyes glued on their teacher. “Potions is a very specific and exact magical science. For some of you it may even feel like Chemistry, and I would say you aren’t entirely wrong. There is very little wand usage, though make sure to always have yours on hand, and that may be off-putting to some, but that is why we are here. To learn and get over these hurdles.”

Lily eventually finishes off her braid, Hermione still struggling with her own, messy hair, and Draco swats at her hands so he can do it for her. He often would get suckered into braiding Ada’s long hair for her when they had to do more strenuous chores, so he knew what he was doing. 

Their professor moves to lean back against her desk, looking at ease in this environment, which is slightly odd considering she looks so official and chipper while the room is surrounded by shelves of very bizarre substances. Draco is pretty sure he sees a brain or two floating in some green liquid in a far corner.

“There is a beauty to a softly simmering cauldron and its shimmering fumes. One must respect the delicate power of these liquids that creep through the veins, ensnaring the senses… be _witch_ ing,” Harry quietly groans at the pun while Lily looks especially proud of herself, “the mind. Why, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death! It will take work - hard work - but it can be done.”

Draco finally finishes on his messy braid for Hermione, who doesn’t even thank him, too enraptured by Lily and her speech. Their professor looks over the class, still smiling, then claps so suddenly and so loudly it surprises them all. “Okay! Let’s see who has read ahead, shall we? What would one get if they added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Hermione’s hand shoots up immediately and Lily smiles a bit brighter, but her eyes flicker momentarily past the young witch. It is only a moment, Draco doubts anyone else noticed, but he does and he doesn’t like the implications when he remembers just who is sitting behind them. “Yes, Miss. Granger?”

“Asphodel and wormwood create a powerful sleeping potion called the Draught of Living Death,” Hermione says eagerly, voice a little too fast, and Lily claps a few times excitedly.

“Yes, very good! That was a tough one, so ten points to Gryffindor,” she says and Hermione beams, chest puffing out as she’s praised. “Now, next question. What is a bezoar and where would one find it?” Again, Hermione’s hand shoots up, but this time Lily’s smile on her is patient, “Give the other students a chance, Miss. Granger, but hold onto your answer just in case.” Slowly Hermione lowers her hand, pouting.

No one immediately answers, Draco racking his brain as he tries to remember what a bezoar was. He could remember he’d read about them, and they had something to do with a goat, but the details alluded him.

When he does finally remember the answer and he looks up, he hesitates. Lily is looking around the classroom, face as kind as ever, but Draco sees her eyes keep flicking towards one particular person behind him and he cringes. He raises his hand and Lily brightens. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”

“A bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat,” he begins, then pauses and his brows furrow, “I think it can save you from poison?”

“That is correct, Mr. Malfoy! Five points for Slytherin. Alright, last one. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” Again, her eyes flicker towards a single person, but it is Neville who raises his hand. “Mr. Longbottom?” Lily smiles and Draco turns around to look at the nervous boy. It gives him an opportunity to also glance at the person he highly suspects Lily to keep glancing at.

Harry is stiff and shrunken inward, like he’s trying to keep the attention off him, and his eyes are glued to the table. Beside him Ron looks fidgety and unhappy and for a moment they lock eyes. The redhead shakes his head, powerless, and Draco’s heart drops. Was this a common occurrence? He certainly hoped not…

“They’re… they’re, uh…” Neville is trying to speak, eyes jumping all over the place, unsure where to look, “They’re the same thing… right?”

“Very good, Mr. Longbottom! Do you know any other names for them?” Lily asks, her full attention thankfully on Neville and not her son.

The pudgy boy hesitates, not saying a word, then glances up at their professor and mumbles, “Aconite…? Ma’am?”

“Wonderful! Ten points to Gryffindor for knowing that extra bit,” Lily claps and when she turns away Neville seems to deflate, relieved the attention is off him. He also seems especially pleased with himself for getting points for his house, especially when Seamus nudges him with his elbow excitedly.

After that they thankfully move on to the lecture part of the class and Draco, after a quick glance, sees Harry beginning to relax. The lecture goes over safety protocols and Lily advises them to always wear closed-toe shoes and clothes they don’t mind getting a little dirty. She doesn’t mind if it isn’t their uniform, it just needs to cover as much skin as possible in case of accidents. She also advises all the girls with long hair to tie it back then hands out protective goggles that are definitely Muggle.

They go over the potions they’ll be brewing over the year, most of them sounding very serious and familiar from their potions books, but every other Monday Lily has decided they’ll learn a more fun, playful potion as a way to break up the monotony and just enjoy themselves.

Finally, she begins showing them how to brew a Cure for Boils, asking they not yet begin but to please follow along with their notes and make sure to get where they can see. When she’s done with the basics she sets them off on their own, letting them begin their own potions as she walks around to help anywhere she can.

Hermione takes her time, reading over the instructions in full three times before beginning, slowly doing everything as carefully as possible. Draco also reads back over the instructions, but then begins flipping through the book and writing on his notes, marking down the purpose of each ingredient so he can hopefully get a better feel for everything. This IS a double class and they’ll be in here for two periods, so he has time to spare.

Behind him Ron is grumbling, jumping right in and apparently getting lost immediately. Harry appears to be faring better, but he keeps his head down and only offers a small smile to his mother when she catches his eye. Draco really wishes he could talk to the boy, wanting to understand what is going on. Lily seems great, and so far she is probably his favorite professor, outside of McGonagall, but she keeps giving Harry those expectant looks like he should know all this and it doesn’t feel right. She’d been kind about Harry’s sorting; why was this so different?

A sudden series of pops sets off somewhere behind them and Draco looks back as Seamus stares, wide-eyed, as his potion seems to morph into a cacophony of fireworks, exploding rapidly within his cauldron like pop rocks. It’s enough to startle Neville, who drops what look to be porcupine quills into his cauldron and his own potion bubbles then quickly overflows, melting away his cauldron as it does.

“Back away! Back away!” Lily commands, hurrying over. Seamus jumps onto his stool as the “potion” pours onto the floor then begins to eat at the legs of the table and stools. Nearly all the class is up on their stools a second later. Lily attempts to get Neville out of the vicinity, but it is too late, the concoction already hitting skin, and she hurries to vanish what remains of it.

“It’s okay, Mr. Longbottom,” Lily says, urgent but kind. Red boils were springing up all over Neville’s skin, particularly bad where the potion had made direct contact, and he whimpers in obvious discomfort. Greg and Vincent have moved to lead him to a free stool and are trying to help wipe off any stray potion with blank pieces of parchment, but anywhere it touches the parchment quickly dissolves.

“You should go to the hospital wing, dear,” Lily says, softer as she steps in front of Neville. The boy’s eyes are wet with upset tears, but he doesn’t begin to cry. “It’s okay. It’s uncomfortable now, but you certainly will learn from this mistake, don’t you think?” Lily smiles then nods to Greg and Vincent, “Could you two accompany him? Let me know how everything goes if I don’t see you before class ends.”

The trio of boys hurry off quickly, no wasting time, and the rest of the class gets back to their own work. Draco glances over towards where most of the Slytherins are sitting when he hears laughter and glowers as Theodore and Millicent reenact Neville’s accident with overdramatic gestures and faces. A few of their housemates laugh at them, looking wicked and mean, and Draco really wishes they’d shut up already. This was why people didn’t like their house, after all. All they were doing was making it worse for everyone.

“Can anyone tell me what mistake was made there?” Lily asks, walking back to the front of the desk, cutting into the Slytherins’ teasing.

Again their teacher’s eyes flicker to her son, expectant, and Draco is scowling before he realizes it and answering without raising his hand. “He put his porcupine quills in without taking his cauldron off the fire,” he says sharply, without meaning to, then looks down on his short notes on porcupine quills. “When heated too quickly the quills react poorly, making the incomplete potion expand rapidly.”

“Very good!” Lily praises, not commenting on Draco’s short tone, and instead moving onward. “Mistakes can be scary, especially in a place like potions, but this is why we have safety measures and a hospital wing. No one here will ever be in danger, so do not fear mistakes,” Lily pauses, making sure she has everyone’s attention. She does. 

“From success we learn, but very little. From mistakes we learn so much more.”

.oOo.

When Potions is finally let out Seamus manages to blow up a second potion before finally bottling… something. Neville returns, looking much better if horribly embarrassed, and doesn’t manage to finish his Cure for Boils, but also doesn’t have any more accidents. Vincent and Greg do nearly the exact same thing as each other but end up with two vials of entirely different colored concoctions. 

Ron’s looks like lumpy, yellow slime that he piles into a vial and Draco can’t help but poke the remainder in his cauldron with his spoon, confounded by it. Hermione’s looks marvelous and exactly like the book’s example photo. Draco’s looks near exactly the same, if just a slight shade off, and he isn’t sure whose is more of a success.

Everyone else does relatively well, especially with Lily’s constant assistance, save for Tracey Davis who makes straight acid that she smiles at as it eats through her table. It’s a tad bit concerning…

Harry’s doesn’t look perfect, but it doesn’t look wrong, either. It just looks average, and Draco thinks that’s fine, but when he hands it in the blonde hears Lily whisper, “Good job, sweetie. We’ll do even better next time!”

To most of the students it would sound quite nice. Lily is a great teacher, and very encouraging, and Draco is sure he’ll learn a lot from her, but Harry only mumbles a weak, “Yeah…” before hurrying to gather up his things.

Draco times it as best he can and manages to get all his stuff together just in time to follow Harry directly out the door and into the cool hall. He’d been right, with all the burners the room had gotten much warmer, and now that they’re out of it Draco shivers and pulls his robes tighter.

“Harry, hold up,” he calls, catching up when his friend slows and looks back at him. Harry looks tired, more tired than he’d looked before, and Draco grabs his elbow to make sure he doesn’t run off. “You okay?”

Harry stares at him for a moment, gauging how he wants to respond, then sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose. “Yeah… yeah, I will be. I was just… really dreading exactly that happening.”

Draco cringes and nods. “Your mom seemed… eager for you to answer her questions.”

Harry shrugs weakly, arms flopping down to his sides and his bag nearly falling off of his shoulder. “She wants me to do well in school…” he mumbles.

“Seemed like more than that,” Draco observes, crossing his arms and arching a brow. It definitely was more than that, and Harry knew that too, but the boy just shrugs again.

“She always loved potions, said one of her favorite teachers was her potion master at Hogwarts, and I think she…” Harry stops, reconsidering whatever he’d been about to say and starts over, “I always took after her more in terms of personality. Everyone says so. Look like my dad, act like my mom… I think she always hoped I’d like potions too and we could have that in common, like how me and dad have flying in common.”

“Hardly seems fair,” Draco grumbles. Behind him the rest of the class is slowly moving out of the classroom and making their way past for the Great Hall and lunch. Again, Harry shrugs. He doesn’t have any kind of response that will please Draco and they both know it. Maybe, if they were lucky, Lily would cool off after a few classes? That would be nice.

“Good thing mommy’s teaching potions, don’t you think, Potter?” comes a nasty voice and Draco nearly tumbles over as Millicent knocks her larger shoulder into his side. She smirks at them as Draco rights himself and glares. “She’ll be able to give you all the best grades, won’t she?”

“She isn’t going to do that,” Harry says with a cold edge to his voice. He stands at Draco’s side and glares just as viciously at the girl. 

He’s ignored, however, and Millicent continues, “You’ll definitely need it. Your own mother’s the potions master and you can’t even answer any of her questions?”

“You hardly did, either,” Draco retorts, voice controlled despite his expression. He was ready to spring at his housemate and make her regret messing with them, but he was scrawnier than her and he didn’t want to cause a scene right outside a classroom. Not a scene where he could be blamed, anyway. Right now, if they were caught, all fingers could be pointed at Millicent.

“Maybe not,” hums a more obnoxious voice as Theodore joins the party, standing at Millicent’s side and smirking down at the two boys. “but we didn’t grow up with an expert on the subject, now did we?”

“Go away Nott. Bulstrode,” Harry snaps, not in the mood to play this game, his hands balled into fists at his side. From the corner of his eye Draco spots Ron and Hermione finally slip out of the classroom and cautiously move towards the commotion. Theodore and Millicent also seem to see the pair and they sneer.

“Right, of course. You don’t want anything to do with your own house, do you? You only want to be around those Gryffindorks,” Millicent huffs, flicking her hair back in a seemingly haughty motion, but she’s about as elegant as a troll so the effect is lost.

“More like we want to be around people who aren’t total gits,” Draco huffs, still sounding as under control as he can be.

“You two wanted to be one of those lions from the beginning,” Theodore accuses and, to Draco’s horror, some of the watching Slytherins nod in agreement.

“Oh, shut up, you obnoxious buffoon,” Draco sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes skyward, making a show of just how exasperated he was. “We hang out with people we like, people we are familiar with, and, in general, just decent human beings, and you and Bulstrode are none of those things,” he waves a finger at the two of them. “So, do us all a favor and stop acting like a jealous ex-girlfriend and let us live.”

Draco doesn’t give them a chance to respond, if he does things could get worse, and instead he turns and briskly walks away, head held high. Harry is only a few steps behind him, moving to keep up, and a moment later Ron and Hermione are joining them.

“That was amazin--” Ron begins but Draco quickly, and sharply, shushes him. They shouldn’t say anything while they’re still in earshot of Theodore and Millicent, they have to remain in complete control until out of sight.

When they turn the corner into a quiet corridor, though, the show ends and Draco stops to deflate, letting out a loud breath and leaning forward to brace himself on his knees. Hermione is beside him a moment later, patting his shoulder, but grinning and trying to hold back giggles.

“NOW can I talk?” Ron demands, one brow arched and arms outward, awaiting some reply.

“Oh please, go ahead,” Draco says, standing up straight and trying to compose himself. He was great at keeping his cool in lots of situations, so long as he could have a moment later to drop the act and just take a breather. “Tell me how amazing I was.”

Harry snorts and Ron’s mouth twists doubtfully. “Mmm, nevermind, I’ve seen better,” the redhead says flatly and Hermione’s held giggles seem to get worse, her shoulders shaking terribly.

“Whatever,” Draco rolls his eyes, still drained from the encounter, but already feeling better at the more natural form of banter. “Let’s just go get lunch. Harry!” the messy-haired boy startles at being directly addressed, “We’re sitting at the Gryffindor table today and those jerks in Slytherin can get over themselves.”

Draco turns away to start marching towards the Great Hall, but only just in time to see Harry smile weakly after him, an ease to his posture finally returning. “Sure thing,” Harry agrees and the four all head out, Hermione falling into step at Draco side, no words said, mostly because she’s still trying not to laugh.

.oOo.

After lunch, and two more periods of classes (and Draco staying behind in Charms yet again to ask Professor Flitwick a few more questions), it’s time to finally go meet up with Hagrid.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come along?” Draco questions Hermione, standing outside the Great Hall, and she waves him off.

“I’m sure. As much as I enjoy spending time with you, I can only handle so much of those other two,” Hermione replies honestly.

“Harry’s fine,” Draco tries, head tilting as he watches his best friend in partial concern. She seemed a bit too flippant about all this. He hoped she wasn’t upset.

“Well, I hardly know him,” Hermione retorts, crossing her arms and looking away. “I haven’t gotten along with many people so far,” she says, more quietly, expression slowly turning downcast, “I’m friends with you, but I’m really not part of this group. I’m glad you and Harry get along, but that Ron… He’s made it quite clear he does not like me, and I am no stranger in telling him I’m no fan of his, either.” She was turning haughty, which was a good sign.

“I don’t want you feeling left out, though,” Draco says, being honest in respect to her own honesty.

“I won’t,” Hermione assures, then finally offers a smile up at him. “Really, I’ll be fine. No one can get along with everyone, after all. Now go! Stop worrying about me and go meet Hagrid!” Now Hermione was pushing at him, none-too-gently either, and Draco smirks at their return to normalcy.

“Alright, alright, I’m going! Pushy…” he replies before doing as he’s told and hurrying off. Harry and Ron have already set out, but they’re taking their time and Draco soon catches up to them outside, heading down a path towards a small hut on the grounds.

“You’re going to love Hagrid, Draco,” Harry says as they walk, looking so much happier. He’d progressively gotten better as the day went by, ignoring all of Theodore and Millicent’s nasty comments or looks, and just focusing on classes and getting to see his family friend soon.

“I’ve actually never met him,” Ron admits, “But Harry’s always got great things to say about him.”

“He’s really nice!” Harry nods, “And creative! He carved me a flute for my tenth birthday, you know. I forgot it at home, but it was really nice.”

“He sounds nice,” Draco agrees, unable to stop his own, small smile from forming at Harry’s pure excitement.

When they get to the hut Harry hurries forward to knock on the door and call, “Hellooooooo, Hagrid!” Deep barking from the other side makes Draco jump, but he’s immediately curious. He wasn’t necessarily a fan of dogs, but he wouldn’t say no to getting to pet one either. Especially since Rex never let him pet him. Draco just hoped this wasn’t a mean dog. It certainly sounded big.

“ _Back_ , Fang- _back_ ,” can be heard a moment later, accompanied by heavy footsteps, then the door is cracking open and Hagrid’s big, hairy face looks down at them. Harry is beaming up at him and the big man’s beard curves upward in what is surely a smile. “Hang on,” he says, “ _Back_ , Fang.”

The door fully opens and Draco is greeted by the sight of a giant, black boarhound struggling against Hagrid’s grip, trying desperately to get to the three boys. The dog’s tongue lolls out the side of his mouth and slobber drips down. He’s big, but he looks about as dangerous as Hagrid, which was to say not at all.

Harry pulls Ron and Draco inside, letting Hagrid shut the door, then immediately goes to the dog - Fang - to pet him. The hut is only one room with hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle on an open fire, and a massive bed in one corner covered in a patchwork quilt. Despite how cramped it appears, and it must be even worse for the giant man, it feels warm and cozy.

“Make yerselves at home,” Hagrid says, smiling down at the boys. Harry moves away from Fang and steps forward to hug the giant man, who booms a happy laugh and gives him a squeeze back. It is all very sweet. “Good te see ye, Harry,” Hagrid pats his back and Harry just keeps grinning up at him.

Fang, realizing Harry isn’t paying attention to him anymore, bounds instead towards Ron and starts licking his ears. The redhead has a disgruntled look on his face at that development, then shoots Draco a glare when the blonde snickers.

“This is Ron,” Harry tells Hagrid, motioning to the redhead, who is beginning to struggle to keep Fang from knocking him over. “I’ve told you about him before.”

“Another Weasley, eh?” Hagrid hums, glancing over Ron’s freckles and red hair, “I spent half me life chasin’ yer twin brothers away from the forest.” The man has begun pouring boiling water from the kettle into a teapot and setting out rock cakes on a plate.

“And this is Draco,” Harry continues, now motioning to the blonde, who straightens up, wanting to create a good first impression.

“Aye, Draco Malfoy,” Hagrid says, turning and smiling at Draco in a way it makes the boy’s shoulders relax. “You’ve been creatin’ quite the stir, ain’ ye? Good ter see someone lookin’ out fer THAT one,” Hagrid makes a motion towards Harry with his head and the boy flushes. Draco glances over at him thoughtfully, before shrugging and smiling back at Hagrid.

“Someone’s got to,” he says cheerfully and Harry makes an affronted noise while Hagrid lets out a boom of laughter.

They all sit down to drink tea and nibble on the rock cakes, which are hard as actual rocks with raisins in them. Draco dislikes eating both rocks and raisins, but he gnaws on them anyway to be nice. At one point, when Hagrid is looking away, Ron smacks a rock cake on the edge of the table and it doesn’t crumble, instead making a dull, thunking noise. He and Draco exchange horrified looks.

Fang rests his head in Harry’s lap, drooling all over his robes, and his tail smacks Draco’s feet as it wags. Neither boys mind as they all tell Hagrid about their first week of classes. They all let loose some of their grievances and Draco learns Harry and Ron had also had a run-in with Mr. Filch a few days back.

They were all quite delighted and entertained by Hagrid’s scoff at the mention of the caretaker, calling him “that old git.” It was always funny to listen to adults complain about other adults, especially when that other adult was someone Draco didn’t like either. He did, however, have to hold his tongue when they all agree they’d like to kick Mrs. Norris. He thought she was kind of cute… If still a menace.

Maybe this was why he got along with Tootsie so well…

Harry and Draco both go into a long-winded spiel about Charms, a class they both greatly enjoy, then Draco talks about Transfiguration and Harry complains that they need a new DADA teacher because he really, really wanted to learn effective, defense spells. Hagrid laughs as all three boys groan when asked about History of Magic. Herbology seems to be the only subject Ron feels remotely confident in, if only because his mother has a garden back at his home and he recognizes some of the plants.

On the subject of Astronomy they have very differing opinions. Ron hates the subject save for the mythological stories behind some of the constellations, while Harry doesn’t mind the subject too much, but isn’t sure how he feels about Professor Sinistra and her unreadable presence. Draco also voices feeling uncertain about their teacher, but ultimately feeling like he quite likes her. He doesn’t bring up her “offer” to let him sneak up to the tower because even he still isn’t sure how to read that.

“She always seems ter have ‘er head somewhere else,” Hagrid agrees with a nod, taking a sip of his tea. His hands are too big for the cup so he ends up having to stick out his pinky by default, but it is still a rather humorous sight. “Like she be livin’ in the stars already.”

“Already?” Ron questions, head tilted. He’s managed to tear off a piece of his rock cake and is trying to offer it to Fang, but not even the dog will eat it.

Hagrid shakes with laughter. “Bit o’ an inside joke fer the faculty, yeh see. We reckon Professor Sinistra’ll be the firs’ witch on the moon jus’ outta stubbornness.”

“Have witches and wizards not made it to the moon, yet?” Draco asks, suddenly curious, and the table quickly turns to him with raised brows, looking incredulous.

“Oh, like Muggles have?” Ron questions, too lighthearted to mean anything rude by it, but Draco quickly turns a blank stare on him.

“Yes. Yes they have,” he says slowly, “In 1969.”

“Really?” Hagrid says, bushy eyebrows raised in astonishment, before he’s nodding, looking impressed. “Well, I’ll be…”

“I didn’t know they’d done that!” Ron exclaims, leaning forward, and Draco doesn’t even hide his sigh.

“Your father works with Muggle stuff. And you, Harry, your mom’s muggleborn! How did you two not know this?” he demands, looking between his two schoolmates. Ron turns pink and Harry looks away, clearing his throat.

“It never came up, I guess,” Harry shrugs.

“I don’t even know if my dad KNEW! He’s going to flip when I write him about this!” Ron is still speaking quite loudly and Draco thinks his ears might start ringing soon.

“Muggle accomplishments ain’ very well known ‘round here,” Hagrid admits, not looking too put out.

Draco groans and lays his head on the table, mumbling into the wood, “I’m beginning to notice that.” The other three have the gall to laugh at him, but he only shoots them a small glare before they’re moving on.

For a moment Hagrid attempts to ask about Potions, but it becomes quickly clear Harry doesn’t much want to talk about that, so Draco gives a quick rundown on the lesson itself before urging them on to another subject. For a while they are distracted by talk of flying, everyone eager to start lessons, but Draco has very little frame of reference here and ends up looking around. He spots what looks like a newspaper, but with moving pictures and a wide assortment of fonts that makes his head hurt. On the front, however, is the headline **“GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST”** with a picture of multiple goblins examining an empty vault.

Draco picks up the paper, the conversation around him shifting to one of Ron’s older brothers named Charlie, who apparently works with dragons, but Draco is too enraptured with the clipping to join in.

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. “But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

Draco’s brows furrow and he lowers the paper some, glancing over the top. “Hey, Harry,” he says, silencing the conversation abruptly, and all three look towards him. “Your birthday is the 31st, right? Of July?”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry nods, his expression openly curious and his eyes dart towards the _Daily Prophet_ in Draco’s hands. “Why?”

“Curious, mostly,” Draco shrugs, then turns the paper around and passes it over, letting Harry and Ron take a look at it. “It says here there was a break-in that day.”

“Whoa!” both boys say in unison, eyes widening as they read over the article. “Hagrid! Weren’t you in Diagon Alley that day?” Harry asks, looking up with excited eyes. It is only then Draco notices how shifty Hagrid has become, looking around at anything but them and keeping his mouth shut.

“Aye, I was,” he says after a beat. Harry must also notice how off he is because he tilts his head in question. “Gettin’ yer present. Ye know tha’.”

“Yeah…” Harry agrees, drawing out the word slowly.

“Did you see anything funny? Were you there? Did you hear about it?” Ron asks, still sounding eager, like this is some great mystery, and apparently not yet noticing Hagrid’s odd behavior.

“I was in an’ outta Gringotts ‘fore any o’ that happened,” Hagrid is quick to say. Too quick. Draco exchanges a baffled look with Harry before taking a calming breath.

“You were at Gringotts?” he asks, as innocently and casually as he can muster. THAT seems to catch Ron’s attention, who suddenly looks confused, while Hagrid relaxes marginally at the tone.

“Had to pick somethin’ up fer Dumbledore, ye see,” the giant man nods, sounding proud of himself, and Harry jumps in.

“Dumbledore really trusts you, right?” He didn’t quite sound as casual as Draco, but he was still playing along perfectly. “You’ve always got really nice things to say about him.”

Hagrid is just about glowing now, incredibly pleased that someone acknowledges the headmaster’s apparent trust in him, and he begins going on a very long speech on how great Dumbledore is and how honored he is to work for him. They all listen until it is time for them to get back to the castle, rock cakes stuffed into their pockets because it was near impossible to say no to the kind, giant man.

As they are walking up the path from the hut, Ron finally speaks up, eying the two Slytherins beside him. “What was that all about?” he questions, obviously referring to the Gringotts conversation.

“He was acting really weird the moment we started talking about that break-in,” Harry says, looking concerned and suspicious, glancing back towards the hut like Hagrid might be listening in somehow.

“There was a break-in on your birthday, Hagrid apparently went to Gringotts for Dumbledore, and this vault, apparently containing something important enough to warrant an attempted theft, was already emptied prior to the incident,” Draco lists off on his fingers, trying to sort out what this might mean, if it means anything.

“Oh, yeah, and he said he’d been to Gringotts _before_ the break-in, too,” Ron breathes, eyes widening in realization, and Draco nods at him.

“That’s right,” he agrees, but his shoulders sag as he admits, “Of course, it could mean nothing. We may just want a cool mystery to solve and are just putting meaning where there is none.”

“Sure… but where’s the fun in that?” Ron grins and Harry gives him a disapproving glare.

“This isn’t a game. If this IS connected it could be really serious,” Harry says, his worry quickly taking over.

“I kind of want to solve this, now,” Draco admits and Harry quickly turns to give him a betrayed look and the blonde shrugs. “What? It sounds interesting, is all! And who doesn’t want to play Scooby-Doo and the Mystery Gang at least once in their life?”

Harry and Ron give him blank looks and Draco quickly realizes his mistake. “Scooby-Doo?” Harry repeats.

“Mystery Gang?” Ron questions.

Draco groans and shakes his head. “Nevermind, I don’t have time to educate you on Muggle cartoons right now. Let’s just… drop all of this for now, okay? It’s not a big deal.” Ron doesn’t seem to want to drop anything, but Harry is far too grateful for the change in subject.

They make it back to the castle soon after and Ron stops them for a moment so he can bury one of his rock cakes in a nearby patch of dirt. When Draco and Harry give him baffled looks he shrugs and says, “I want to see how long it takes to dissolve.”

“For science?” Draco questions, a smirk already playing on his lips, and Ron shrugs again.

“Sure?”

As they walk through the castle both boys quietly hide rock cakes in varying places, curious of the outcome, while Harry watches on in bafflement. Draco usually is the controlled and collected one, but he has always had issues turning down experiments. It’s how Hermione and his foster siblings often tricked him into doing things for them, and he was usually too impressed to be that angry. He still always got back at them, though.

After they drop one of the cakes into a large torch and the thing pops like a firecracker, they decide maybe that’s enough and they all go their separate ways.

When they make it down to the Slytherin common room Harry collapses on one of the couches, looking tired but ultimately content for the day, while Draco goes to grab some of his school supplies and start on some homework.

“You have all the weekend to do that,” Harry groans when Draco returns and takes a seat in a large, wing-backed chair. “Why are you doing it now?”

“If I can at least start on it, then I won’t have to do as much later and I’ll be free to do what I want on the weekend,” Draco replies, not looking up from where he’s rummaging through his bag. He doesn’t even startle when Muddy’s head pops up, instead giving her an unimpressed look.

“ _If I could shrug, I would,_ ” Muddy hisses up at him, then slithers up his arms to settle around his neck. Draco says nothing, just rolls his eyes and pulls out his Charms text.

“You’re as bad as that Hermione,” Harry grumbles, settling back on the couch and closing his eyes.

“Thank you,” Draco says simply, still not looking up, and he begins jotting down a few notes in his Charms notebook on wand movement and the importance of pronunciation.

“Hey, Draco!” Sophie appears at Draco’s side, leaning over the armrest of his chair, and making the blonde look up at her. Her hair has been transfigured into a long mohawk that hangs to one side. “Good, you’re working on homework. Help me with my Transfiguration! I got the match to turn into a needle, but now I can’t go back.” It’s a demand, not a request, and the girl only seems to pause to reach out and pat Muddy’s head. “Hi, Muddy.”

“What are you visualizing now?” Draco asks, ignoring Muddy’s demand that Sophie get her a live mouse if she wants to keep petting her, and instead focusing on the task presented to him.

For the rest of the evening Draco works on his homework, occasionally getting dragged into helping Sophie or telling Tracey that, “No, I haven’t heard of a spell that makes your skin venomous. No, I will not help you look it up,” or finally getting Harry to join in and just write a little of his History of Magic essay. It does a good job of distracting him, but eventually, as he lies in bed awake, Draco can’t keep his mind from wandering back to that Gringotts article.

Who had done it? Why? What had Hagrid taken from Gringotts for Dumbledore and was it really connected? It had to be important, right? Whatever it was…

Draco’s eyes narrowed, fingers absently running down Muddy’s smooth body as she coiled up on his chest, right above his scar. Could whatever it was have been brought here to Hogwarts? Draco knew so few locations within the Wizarding World, so he had very little evidence for or against that thought, but…

What was hiding, then, in the forbidden third floor corridor?

.oOo.

On Monday morning Draco, and all the rest of the Slytherins, woke up to a notice on the bulletin board that flying classes would begin on Thursday for the first years. It was also to be a shared class with the Gryffindors, much to Draco and Harry’s joy. They ignored Theodore and Millicent’s rude comments about it entirely.

Ever since the incident outside of Potions, Theodore and Millicent had only gotten worse. Where they had mostly left them alone before, now they made sure to throw a rude comment at Draco and Harry any time they were near their Gryffindor friends. They would sneer and laugh and in general just be cruel. Sometimes Pansy would join in, like she saw it as all good fun, and many of the other Slytherins made no move to stop them. Sophie and Daphne might stand up for them on occasion, while Tracey and Blaise just stayed out of it altogether. Gemma would occasionally try to lecture them all, but that usually only made things worse and William would step in to pull her away.

The only time they got any reprieve was in the midst of classes, when they were by themselves, or, surprisingly, while in their dorm room. Theodore was still obnoxious, but for the most part he kept his distance from Draco and Harry while they were in their dorm. It certainly helped he still didn’t like Muddy and a small threat of putting her in his bed again usually got him to lay off for a bit.

Draco found the rest of their house mostly competent despite all of that. Sophie was still his Transfiguration partner most of the time and he found he quite liked Daphne and her soft voice and love of classic literature. Tracey creeped him out, but she creeped most everyone out, with her weird obsession with poisons and acid and chaos. Blaise was also a very competent student, but he kept to himself so much that Draco had a hard time determining how he felt about him, and Pansy seemed obsessed with gossip and didn’t mind jumping back and forth between sides depending purely on which entertained her more.

Gemma was probably the most harmless, annoying Slytherin Draco knew so far, but she wasn’t awful. He could at least sit in the same room as her for extended periods of time. He couldn’t do that with Percy, the Gryffindor prefect, he’d discovered rather quickly. William, the other fifth year, Slytherin prefect, was significantly more reasonable to be around. He didn’t lecture all the younger students every chance he got and instead was quite mellow majority of the time. Plus, get him going on his siblings, which he apparently had many of, and you could slip away from him if you were in trouble.

As for the rest of Slytherin Draco still hadn’t gotten a good feel for them personally. He knew of people, or had a few stilted interactions, like getting Vivian Wilcom to run off pesky students or asking Bebe Thompson, an antisocial second year, to stop muttering at his homework all the time, but for the most part Draco still had some networking to do. Hermione called it “making friends,” but the wording really didn’t matter to Draco.

He also had far more things to concern himself with, such as this flying class on Thursday.

Ever since he’d heard about flying on broomsticks the thought had remained in the back of Draco’s head. It sounded exciting, but also terrifying. He liked heights, but the Astronomy Tower made him queasy, so how would he fair with this? There was no Muggle equivalent he could compare this to and he was left puzzling how he should prepare.

Hermione read through every Quidditch book she could get her hands on, lecturing Draco, Harry, and the other Gryffindor first years constantly. Ron looked just about ready to burn her copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , but Greg, Vincent, and Neville hung off of every word, looking just as nervous as Draco felt. Many of the kids from wizarding families attempted to assuage some of their fears, but they had far more experience in this field and Draco rather preferred they stop trying.

When Thursday finally came Draco couldn’t stop fidgeting and somehow he’d been pulled over to the Gryffindor table for breakfast with Harry without noticing. In a surprising twist of fate Sophie and Daphne also ended up joining them, also looking anxious. Draco supposed fear over something could bring the most unlikely people together… Sophie had her hair styled like it was already being blown back by the wind and her face was down as she shoveled food into her mouth, while Daphne looked particularly green despite her best efforts to look proper as she asked Hermione questions about her Quidditch books.

“You all are just anxious over nothing,” Ron says with a mouthful of chewed up meat, making Draco scowl at him.

“We’re really not,” the blonde retorts as Daphne huffs.

“I’ve heard of some terrible injuries occurring while on a broom,” the girl says, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. “Did you know there was a man in Belgium who crashed his broom and his arm turned inside out?”

“How… How could that have happened?” Hermione squeaks, eyes bugging out in alarm, and Daphne shrugs, chewing her lip.

“I don’t know… Pansy told me.”

Draco scoffs and rolls his eyes at that. “Probably a big lie, then. She just likes spreading garbage and seeing what sticks,” he says with his nose up, a false sense of bravado about himself. Maybe if he faked it enough he could believe it as well?

The conversation is cut short with the arrival of the mail, thankfully, and Draco discreetly deflates. He hadn’t gotten any mail since his letters from his foster family, but that was understandable. He hadn’t sent any back. Plus… he wanted to send a letter to Sirius Black first, after Harry had told him about him. He was just having some trouble formulating a first letter.

Tootsie still flies in, though, and drops off a letter for Hermione, who had been using her to talk to her own family. A few seats down a parcel is dropped in front of Neville by a barn owl and the boy immediately brightens. It is from his parents, he says, and when he pulls out his gift it reveals itself to be a glass ball the size of a large marble with white smoke inside.

“It’s a Remembrall,” he explains, looking sheepish, “Everyone in my family knows I forget stuff a lot. This was probably Gran’s idea, actually… This tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten. Watch, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red- oh…” Neville’s face falls as the smoke in his Remembrall turns scarlet, “You’ve forgotten something…”

Vincent pats the boy’s shoulder consolingly as he tries to remember what he’s forgotten, but Sophie looks up, stares for a moment, then waves her fork at him. “Robes. You forgot your robes,” she says around an entire link of sausage sticking out the corner of her mouth and everyone looks towards Neville. Neville also looks down at himself and, sure enough, he’s only wearing his school uniform without the robes. Realization dawns on his face and the Remembrall suddenly shifts back to white.

“Oh! Thank you! I had forgotten,” he smiles at Sophie, who scoffs and goes back to her stress eating.

Across the Great Hall Draco feels eyes on them and he looks over. Theodore and Millicent are glaring at their ensemble, looking more vicious than usual, and then Theodore’s eyes flick towards Neville and his gift. The tall boy’s eyes get a glint to them and then he’s smirking. Draco glares back at him, but can do nothing except keep an eye out. He has a feeling the upcoming flying lesson is going to be an eventful one.

.oOo.

The flying lesson was at three thirty, but Draco and the rest of the Slytherins left for the castle grounds at least ten minutes early. They were either eager to get started or nervous but trying to hide it with fake eagerness. Draco wasn’t sure which category he fit into.

It was a gorgeous day, with a light breeze, blue sky, fluffy clouds, and just the right temperature. Draco found himself watching the grass ripple in the wind like a movie, and just beyond that the trees of the Forbidden Forest sway ominously.

Twenty broomsticks are laying out on the lawn, two rows of ten facing each other, and Harry drags Draco over to stand by a pair. They’re ugly things and Draco had heard plenty about how awful they functioned. Both Fred and George Weasley were very vocal complainers, and Harry had heard a lot from his own father on the subject.

Draco crouches down beside one of the brooms to observe it, thoughtful. “So, no one uses these to do any cleaning, right? These are built specifically for flying?”

“Pretty much,” Harry says, bouncing on his toes excitedly and only half listening to Draco. He’d made it very clear he loved flying. Every chance he got back home he would go out on his broomstick and flying around, sometimes passing around a ball with his father.

“Are there other flying objects?” Draco continues, standing again, crossing his arms and arching a brow. “A flying mop, perhaps?” Harry snorts loudly at that and shoots him a smile, but doesn’t reply, shaking his head in disbelief. Draco takes that as a no, then.

The Gryffindors eventually join them right at three thirty, followed by their teacher, Madam Hooch, who plows right into the lesson without any pleasantries. “Well? What are you waiting for? Everyone stand by a broom. Come on, hurry up!”

Ron moves to stand by the broom by Harry’s other side, while Hermione goes beside Draco. The poor girl looks like she’s about to shake right out of her skin, but she has her shoulders back, chest puffed, and head high.

“Stick your right hand out over your broom and say ‘UP!’” Madam Hooch instructs, placing down a broom of her own and then showing them how to do it. Harry immediately does as instructed and his broom shoots straight up into his hand. Draco stares, amazed and impressed, before taking a deep breath, centering himself, and trying as well. It is with a great sense of pride that his own broom shoots straight into his hand with a resounding smack. He looks again at Harry, a giddiness taking over him and wondering if his friend saw. They lock eyes and grin at each other, some of the nerves washing off Draco.

They are the only two that get it immediately, too.

Around them there is a constant uproar of “UP! UP!” as kids try to get their brooms to behave. Hermione’s dances around at her feet and she is getting progressively more frustrated. Ron’s lurches quite suddenly and smacks him in the face, mumbling a nasally, “Shut up,” when Harry and Draco laugh. Neville’s doesn’t even move.

The next person to get it, much to Draco’s displeasure, is Theodore, who looks smug despite being third. Next is Greg, who stands across from Draco, and only then does he notice Vincent’s dejected expression. Draco hadn’t really thought of it much before, but how was Vincent managing all these classes when he couldn’t even say the incantations? Or, in this case, tell his broom to come up to him?

Part of Draco’s concern is answered when Madam Hooch passes, her back turned, and Greg leans over and says a quick “UP!” over Vincent’s broom. The broom springs up and he quickly hands it to Vincent, who still looks sad, but incredibly grateful and more at ease. Still… it left the question of his spell usage up in the air.

They are shown how to mount their brooms next, Madam Hooch going student to student and adjusting their grips. Harry’s is apparently perfect, while Draco’s, who had been copying Harry, was close but still needed some adjusting.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch and Draco found himself nodding, his body vibrating. He was still a little nervous, but now that the opportunity was finally presenting itself, he felt much, much more excited. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle. Three… Two…”

Draco braced himself, ready to push off, but he didn’t get the chance because Neville, in a panic, jumped off from the ground early and was starting to float away.

“Come back, boy!” Madam Hooch called and the rest of the students watch in varying degrees of worry as Neville just goes up and up.

“Tilt the broom down!” Greg calls, he and Vincent looking pale as their friend goes higher and higher. Neville looks down and Draco can see he’s paled too, his eyes wide as saucers when he sees the ground getting further and further, and then he’s tipping sideways.

WHAM!

Draco cringes when the frightened Gryffindor hits the ground with a thud and a very telling crack. Drace had heard broken bones before, Ada got them all the time back home and once Frederick had taken a nasty tumble off his bike in the driveway. He knew that sound, and he only felt sympathy as Neville clutched at his wrist where he lay curled up. Above them his broom floats higher and higher until it begins to drift towards the Forbidden Forest, then vanish out of sight.

“Broken wrist,” Madam Hooch mumbles and Draco looks down to see she’s crouching beside Neville. A few paces away Greg and Vincent look like they want to help, but are too shaken to know how. “Come on, boy, it’s all right, up you get.” She urges Neville up and Draco cringes when he sees the boy’s tear-stained face. Draco had absolutely nothing against Neville, he was a kind, accident-prone kid, but up until this point he’d never full on cried after an incident and Draco felt terrible for him.

Madam Hooch announces she has to take him to the hospital wing, voice commanding and firm, and she warns them all to stay grounded or they would be in big trouble upon her return.

“It’ll be alright Neville,” Hermione calls as the boy is led away and a murmur of agreement ripples through most of the students. The second they’re out of sight, however, Millicent, Theodore, and Pansy begin to laugh.

“Did you see that moron’s face?” Theodore chortles cruelly and both Greg and Vincent take threatening steps towards him, but he doesn’t notice.

“Shut up, Nott,” Parvati Patil snaps, eyes blazing.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” Millicent coo’s, hands coming up to her cheeks mockingly.

“Never thought you’d like fat, little crybabies, Parvati,” Pansy finishes, cackling and looking far too cheerful. Like she usually did in these situations Pansy said terrible things and went along with Theodore and Millicent, but kept a far more cheerful disposition.

Draco hardly cares, however, as he steps forward and jabs a finger first at the thin, black-haired girl. “You look like a drowned horse,” he says, then points at Theodore, “YOU look like a stretched donkey,” then he points at Millicent, “And YOU look like a greasy beetle.” He drops his hand and glares hotly at the trio, furious and done with them. “You are the LAST people who get to make any disparaging comments on a kid just trying to get through his lessons!”

“Brave words, Malfoy,” Theodore sneers, sauntering towards Draco and looking down his nose at him, “Guess you really _do_ fit in with these red and gold losers.”

“At least I fit in somewhere,” Draco says coldly, silver eyes sharp as he glares right back up at Theodore. For a second they just glare at each other, a thick silence falling over the class as students tense for the inevitable.

But then Theodore scoffs and bends down, picking something up off the ground from a few steps away. “Sorry to hear you think that, Draco,” he hums, too casual, passing whatever he picked back and forth between his hands. Draco thinks it must be a rock, but then he sees it catch the light and his eyes widen.

“Give that back!” Harry snaps, stepping forward and stretching out his hand for Neville’s Remembrall, his own eyes like green fire.

“No,” Theodore is still humming and Millicent is smirking viciously over his shoulder. Beside them, however, Pansy is beginning to look a little anxious, but Draco really couldn’t care about her right now. “No, I don’t think I will. UP!” Suddenly Theodore’s forgotten broom shoots into his hand and he’s mounting it, pushing up and floating into the air. Draco doesn’t know what a graceful flier should look like, but he doesn’t think it’s Theodore.

“Nott!” Harry calls, furious, and both he and Draco clutch their brooms a little harder.

“Maybe I should toss it,” Theodore hums, rolling the Remembrall around his fingers, “Let little Neville find it in the Black Lake, maybe? Or perhaps I should return it… that way maybe, just maybe,” Theodore’s cold eyes flick down to the class, “he’ll remember to fall on his neck next time he tries to fly.”

With a shout Harry is on his broom and flying upwards, snatching at the Remembrall, but Theodore sees him coming and backs out of his range. Draco, despite his own fury, thinks Harry is a really good flier. “Give it here, Nott!” Harry snaps.

“You both need to come down!” Hermione calls, looking frantic and angry, but at who Draco can’t tell. “You’re going to get us all in trouble!”

She’s ignored, however, save for a mumbled, “Hermione, shut it,” from Ron and the boys in the air keep staring each other down. Draco’s own grip on his broom shifts and he steps back, eyes narrowing as he realizes Theodore’s attention is entirely on Harry right now.

“You want this, ickle Harry?” Theodore taunts, waving the Remembrall, and Harry lurches for it, but again the taller boy backs just out of his grasp. “Maybe you should go get mommy for help? How else will you get anything done- huh?” Theodore’s brows furrow as he looks to the Remembrall where the smoke has suddenly turned scarlet. “What on earth could I have forgotten at a time like this?” he manages to say just as Draco comes shooting past him, wind whistling in his wake, wrenching the Remembrall out of his hand.

Draco floats a good couple yards away, smirking viciously and tossing the little ball in one hand, smoke back to white. “That would be me, Theo,” he says smugly. He’d hardly been thinking when he’d done it, he’d simply seen an opportunity and taken it, kicking off the ground and maneuvering his broom how he thought it should go. He wobbled on it now, unsteady without practice, and he knew he was far from being as fluid as Harry seemed, but he figured he could pride himself on how fast and nimble he apparently was.

Theodore is glaring death at him as Harry grins and the majority of the students on the ground cheer. “Bloody prat,” the taller boy hisses and Draco’s smile vanishes as Theodore suddenly grasps his broom and rockets into motion. He’s barreling towards Draco and the blonde reacts instinctively, rolling out of the way and then swerving and taking off. Theodore was evidently a very sore loser, for he was soon on Draco’s trail, swiping at his broom and trying to knock him off.

Draco should have felt panicked - he was flying much faster than he should have been, much higher than he should have been - but instead, as he weaved and dodged and shakily maneuvered out of the way, he felt elated. A grin was even growing on his face, but that only managed to infuriate Theodore more.

After a particularly close evasion Draco nearly loses control of his broom, but quickly looks around then takes off in a new direction, instead moving towards Hogwarts castle, planning to lose his attacker amongst the towers and spires.

“Draco!” The blonde looks up at the call just in time to see Harry following after, moving much quicker on his broom with an air of confidence about him. “Toss it to me! I can lose him!”

Draco doesn’t have to be asked twice. He knows Harry has to be better at this than him and he isn’t going let his pride keep him from making a smart, logical decision. But he also isn’t confident in how accurate he can throw the Remembrall on a moving broom and looks ahead. “Go long!” he calls, then barrel rolls under Theodore’s broom, pulls back his arm, and chucks the glass orb as hard as he can.

Harry shoots after it, looking like he was meant to be in the air, his robes whipping behind him like bird wings, his arm outstretched. Draco can only watch in amazement as Harry effortlessly snatches the Remembrall right out of the air, spinning around and whooping in excitement. Draco is quick to join him, cheering at the catch, still flying through the air, but then Harry looks back and halts. Draco, immediately nervous, looks back as well and sees nothing. Nothing to worry about at all…

“Where did Nott go?” Harry calls, his voice easier to hear as Draco flies towards him, still looking back and around the air above Hogwarts.

“I… guess we lost him?” Draco mumbles, finally stopping beside his friend. That didn’t sound right, though… Theodore had been right there a second ago, Draco had just dodged him, he would have seen Harry make his catch… Did he leave? Did he give up? That didn’t sound like Theodore…

A throat clearing makes both boys freeze. Slowly, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, they look over their shoulders and behind them. They had been flying above Hogwarts, after all, and apparently had stopped right next to the Astronomy Tower…

…Where Professor Aurora Sinistra now stands, arms crossed, tapping a quill against a bicep. Her blank eyes stare straight into their souls, freezing them to the spot.

“Gentlemen,” Professor Sinistra says evenly. Draco gulps.

“Professor,” both boys say in unison.

“Meet me in my office,” and she turns sharply and walks away, leaving the two boys stunned and panicky, a pit growing in their stomachs.

Well… crap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest chapter yet? Hope everyone enjoys it! I certainly enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Chapter Song: [Where No One Goes - Jonsi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bQ7grem-aZE)


	9. A Dare and A Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I want to warn y'all I'm not sure when the next chapter will come out. I just learned a dear member of my family passed away last night and I'm not sure if that means I'll end up stress writing or not writing at all. So... sorry ahead of time, whatever may happen.

Draco and Harry didn’t say a single word as they landed on the Astronomy Tower’s stone floor. Sinistra had walked away what felt like hours ago, but had probably only been a few minutes, and they really needed to hurry after her if they didn’t want to get in anymore trouble.

With brooms in hand they march down the stairs, a grim set to their mouths like they are walking to their own funeral. That’s what it felt like, too. They were going to get suspended, or expelled, or killed! Draco thought he was going to be sick, but the empty feeling in his gut outweighed the nausea.

Sinistra’s office was just down the corridor from the Astronomy Tower. The door looked like any others in the castle save for the single, silver star that hung on the front. Harry was the one to reach out and knock, but before his knuckles even touch wood the door opens inward on its own. The two boys look to each other, the dread pooling in their chests wanting to overflow.

Inside the room is small and circular and crowded. Draco had been expecting it to be near barren just based off of Sinistra’s nonexistent personality, but instead he was bombarded by the sight of glittering telescopes, metal devices of unknown purpose that moved on their own accord, floating decorations like windchimes and orbs and even a few plants, and a ceiling charmed to show the current star placement of the sky even during the day. To the left was a fireplace, currently alight with purple and blue fire, and all along the walls hung moving photos, no paintings, of all kinds of people Draco didn’t know.

It feels like a complete mess and Draco thinks he’d develop claustrophobia if he had to be in an office like this for too long.

Sinistra sits quietly at her desk on the far side of the circular room, the surface of the desk the only clean spot in the whole room save for a photo turned away from them and a small, glass orb that seems to have some clear liquid within it. Their Head of House stares at them as they shuffle up to her, heads down and shoulders curled, awaiting punishment.

“Mr. Potter, I understand you are an experienced flier,” Sinistra begins, voice not quite conversational but less cold than Draco had been expecting. He glances over at Harry, who is looking at their teacher with poorly masked panic.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Harry manages, “My father taught me.”

“James Potter was a Chaser for Gryffindor,” Sinistra says and it isn’t a question. Her dark eyes turn to Draco and he stiffens. “Mr. Malfoy, this is your first time flying?” Draco can’t seem to find his voice so he just nods, eyes wide. “Naturally talented, then.” A blush creeps up Draco’s face at that and he ducks his head, flattered and embarrassed. He wasn’t used to adults complimenting him.

“Excuse me, Professor Sinistra?” Harry says and flinches when Sinistra looks to him with a sharp turn of her head, face a void of all feeling. Why was she like this? Why did she have to be so hard to read? It was infuriating. “Are we… in trouble?”

Sinistra’s head tilts, like she might be thinking or confused, but when her face doesn’t change it gives her a slightly unnatural look, like she was something trying to imitate a human. “No. Not if you take my offer.”

“Offer?” Draco squeaks. He still felt horribly panicky, but this meeting was not going at all like he had expected.

“Quidditch, Mr. Malfoy,” Sinistra says and now she is looking at both boys as a whole. She raises a hand and with a flick of her pointer finger a tray floats off a nearby shelf and comes to settle on the desk. A tea set sits upon it made of white porcelain and hand painted with all kinds of magical creatures that don’t move. One of the tea cups has a chip in the top.

Another wave of her hand has steam suddenly rising from the teapot and then she is taking it and pouring three cups. “Take a seat. Prepare your tea how you like,” she instructs as she takes the cup with the chip in it and begins to sip her unaltered tea.

Draco and Harry both look back when, after another wave of their Head of House’s hand, two chairs float over and set themselves behind them. They exchange a look, but now the two boys are more confused than worried.

Draco is the first to take a breath and sit, bundling up all his panic now that it has gone down and placing it to the side. He puts some honey into his tea before taking a cup, then Harry puts a ridiculous amount of sugar into his own before sitting as well.

“Slytherin has won the House Cup the last seven years,” Sinistra says once they’re settled, brooms set on the floor beside their chairs. “Part of this is thanks to our superior Quidditch team. I would like this trend to continue.” Sinistra pauses to take a sip of her tea. It is infinitesimal, but Draco thinks she looks a bit more relaxed.

“And you… want us to try out?” Draco questions, connecting the dots the best he can.

“No,” Sinistra says simply, “I’m offering you a place on the team here and now.”

“What?!” Harry yelps, spilling some tea onto his robes and hissing at the heat. He pats desperately at the stain while Draco stares at their teacher, eyes wide and hanging open.

“I will be speaking in more detail to the captain, Marcus Flint, but we are in need of new players after many graduated or stepped down,” Sinistra sets down her cup then pulls out a sheet of parchment from a desk drawer along with a quill and inkwell. She begins writing with elegant, sweeping motions.

“First years never play on the house Quidditch teams, though!” Harry says in disbelief, still in shock. Draco wasn’t far behind him, either.

“That is usually correct, yet you have shown more skill in one demonstration than most of our past tryouts,” Sinistra says, not looking up from her writing. “The other reason is due to brooms. First years, if they choose to try out, must use school brooms, which are subpar,” Draco glances down at the broom he had been flying on. He had no idea if it was subpar like she said, he’d only ever flown on these ones and he’d felt invigorated. Were they really so bad? Everyone certainly thought so.

When he glances over at Harry, however, the boy is nodding, apparently agreeing with Sinistra.

“I am making a formal request to Headmaster Dumbledore now to allow you both your own brooms,” she explains then finishes off her writing with her signature. She looks up and whistles once and a moment later her office door opens on its own and a small, sooty owl flies in. Draco only then realizes there are no windows in this office.

“To Dumbledore,” she says, handing over her rolled up parchment, and the owl takes it gently in its talons, then flies out. The door shuts after it.

“I’m sorry…” Harry begins and both Draco and Sinistra look to him, “I think I misunderstand… You’re allowing us… to have our own brooms?”

“If Dumbledore agrees,” Sinistra nods once. “It would be foolish to waste your talents because of a broom. You may speak to your mother or owl your father once I get an answer, Mr. Potter.” Harry is still in shock, but he looks like he might have just been told every day was Christmas from here on out. Draco, however, isn’t so sure.

“I don’t own a broom, though,” he says weakly. He remembers looking at them when McGonagall had taken him to Diagon Alley, and he’d thought they looked cool, but he hadn’t purchased one. He had thought he wouldn’t need one, after all.

“Until you can procure one for yourself,” Sinistra begins then looks to the right. She raises her hand towards a long trunk tucked against the wall and, with a flick of three of her fingers upward, the trunk pops open and three broomsticks float upward, one atop the other. “You may use one of mine.”

“You _fly_?!” Harry exclaims, manners out the window in the face of this apparent discovery. Draco doesn’t understand why this is so surprising. Flying was spectacular from what he’d just discovered, who wouldn’t want to do it?

“I equal parts enjoy the activity and it can be beneficial for my Astronomy research,” Sinistra explains. “I do not play Quidditch, however, so I would suggest finding your own broom within a reasonable timeframe.” That last part is obviously pointed towards Draco and he nods quickly. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get his own broom, though. Maybe he should talk to McGonagall?

“Is that a Moontrimmer?” Harry gasps, leaning forward to try and get a look at the three brooms. He was looking at the top one which had a slim handle made of ash. At least, Draco thinks it is ash. It looks like the same wood of one of the wands he had tried out that had been made of ash.

“Yes,” Sinistra says shortly. The broom on the bottom is dark with big, obnoxious writing on the handle that reads “Bluebottle,” but, with her palm outward, it is the middle broom that jolts out of place and shoots into her hand.

“Why don’t you use a wand?” Draco questions without thinking.

“Uagadou does not use wands,” Sinistra says, looking to the blonde, “Though I do own one for more complex spellwork.” Then she is outstretching her arm and holding the broom out to Draco without a word. Draco swallows, nerves trying to get the better of him, but he manages to reach out and take the broom in both his hands. Harry leans towards him to get a look as well.

The broom is made with a dark handle, relatively thin, with a silver, protective plate over the top of the bristles. The bristles themselves are smooth and straight - a far cry from the mess of bristles on the school brooms - and are cut at the ends to be longer on the top than the bottom. There are also little, silver footholds, also unlike the school brooms, and etched into the end of the handle, in silver text, is the name “Turbo XX.”

“A Turbo broom!” Harry says, sounding excited, and Draco looks at him in confusion. Yes, the broom looks magnificent, but is the style really that great? Draco has no clue. “They’re a racing broom, always in competition with the Air Waves.”

“Air Waves?” Draco repeats, brows only pinching more together. Were these like kinds of cars? Different manufacturers with different attributes?

“Yeah, the Air Wave Silver came out around the same time as the Turbo XX. I have a Nimbus 2000, though,” Harry immediately begins to glow, ready to start explaining what any of this means, but Sinistra holds up a single hand to stop him. Both boys immediately look to her.

“So,” she begins, placing both hands down on her desk and clasping them together, “That is your offer. Play for the Slytherin team, or punishment.” Draco’s mouth falls open. He’d momentarily forgotten that was why they were here to begin with. Sinistra must realize that of course they would pick Quidditch over trouble and had manipulated the situation. Draco had to admit he could respect that…

“What, uh… What positions would we play, though?” Harry asks, looking at their teacher with big eyes.

“We are in desperate need of a new Beater,” she says, but waves that one off, “A Chaser,” now she looks pointedly at Draco. He has no idea what a Chaser is, though. “And a Seeker,” then she looks at Harry. The boy sits up straight, eyes widening even further. He doesn’t have anything to say to that so Draco wonders if Seeker is a big deal. 

For a moment Sinistra just looks at the two. “Await my owl,” she eventually says and Draco realizes they haven’t actually agreed to anything, yet. It doesn’t really matter, though. Their answer is obvious and Sinistra must know that. “You will need to show your skills in front of Mr. Flint. Until then, Mr. Potter, go ahead and retrieve a broom from home, I suspect Dumbledore will have no issue with my request. Mr. Malfoy, keep that broom in your dorm room. You may return it once you have your own. You are dismissed.”

Both boys nod and stand in a rush, tea cups quickly returned to Sinistra’s tray. “Thank you, Professor!” they say together and pick up their school brooms.

They turn to leave, the door opening on its own, but before they step out Draco pauses and looks back. “Professor?” he says and Sinistra looks at him, waiting. “Is… is Theodore Nott going to get in trouble at all?”

Harry looks back as well, expression expectant and hopeful, while Draco tries to keep his own face under control. Sinistra says nothing for a moment before replying, “No. If you wish to remain out of trouble yourselves, then so must he.” Draco feels himself deflate, but he can’t be too upset. Sinistra has a point. If they want their own rule breaking to remain quiet, then so too did Theodore’s. It was still disheartening, though.

They finally slip out of the office, door shutting behind them, and only when they are a few corridors away do they finally break. Harry drops his school broom then grabs both of Draco’s shoulders, eyes big and face glowing. “Can you believe this?” he hisses, trying to keep his voice down in case Mr. Filch or another teacher might come by. “Quidditch! We just got onto the Quidditch team!”

“Yes, I was there,” Draco says, trying to sound sarcastic, but his smile is uncontrollable by this point. Mostly, he’s relieved to not been kicked out of school, but it does sound exciting, and Harry’s energy is infectious. “I hardly know anything about it, though,” he admits at length, shrugging, a broom in both hands. Hermione had lectured so much about it before their flying class that Draco had tuned her out for most of it. Now he wishes he’d listened more.

Harry is grinning even wider now and Draco thinks he might be looking directly into the sun by how he glows. “I can teach you! Come on, let’s drop off the Turbo XX in the dorms and I’ll tell you the rules,” he says and begins to drag Draco towards the dungeons. They have to stop and turn around, however, when Harry forgets his school broom, but then they’re off.

.oOo.

“Quidditch!” Hermione very nearly shrieks when Draco tells her what happened that evening in the library. They were tucked away in a far corner, books all around, like they used to do at the public library back home. Hermione slaps a hand over her own mouth when she realizes her volume and they both glance back where Madam Pince is peering at them from her desk. When she leans back without a word, they both let out a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, me and Harry--”

“Harry and I,” Hermione corrects but Draco ignores her.

“--were offered positions by Professor Sinistra. Apparently we really impressed her.”

“I’m glad you didn’t get into trouble,” Hermione sighs gratefully, slouching slightly in her chair. “Don’t ever do that again. You could have been expelled!”

Draco flinches at his friend’s tone, glancing away and scowling. “I hardly had a choice. Nott is a right git who needed to be taught a lesson.”

Hermione is glaring at him, not pleased at all, but Draco isn’t going to let her win this one. He didn’t regret what he had done, not a bit, and he doubted he would have even if he had gotten a year’s worth of detention. Theodore Nott was a jerk and he wasn’t going to let him get away with any of it.

They, thankfully, fall back to work after that, argument forgotten. Most of their homework is mostly done and they are instead focusing on extracurricular research. With proper theory and practice now under his belt Draco had begun researching how spells were developed. He specifically wanted to find if there was a general consensus on any aspect of the process; an idea considered the norm that wasn’t questioned, because Draco _did_ want to question it. Hermione may have been happy to accept everything she read, but Draco wasn’t.

Their library trip was a fruitful one for him seeing as he’d found a few books on charms that gave very, very in-depth rundowns on how common spells worked. He had written extensive notes on his findings, comparing them to his own experience with what he had managed so far, and began writing down questions for the next time he saw Professor Flitwick. “Can the color of Lumos be altered and how?” “Can the intensity of Lumos be altered and how?” “Can Nox be used on lights used not created by the caster? If not, why?” “How does the wording of the incantation affect a spell?”

Hermione had also begun researching more advanced spells and potions. She loved getting ahead and was probably the brightest person Draco knew, so he wasn’t surprised. She didn’t cast anything, she would never while they were in the library, but she did wave her wand a couple times and mutter to herself. She took particular interest today in potions that took the place of complex spells.

As they were leaving, with a few books in their arms, Hermione brought back up Quidditch. “How do you plan on getting a broom, though?”

“I was thinking of asking Professor McGonagall. Can’t leave the castle grounds during term, right? But maybe she could take me to Diagon Alley over Christmas break,” Draco replies, shrugging, “I’ll just keep borrowing Professor Sinistra’s Turbo XX until then.”

“Do you have to do anything else?” Hermione questions, but she sounds absent. She had never shown much interest in sports before, and after returning to flying class Draco also realized she was not the best flier.

“Other than train? Apparently me and Harry--”

“Harry and I.”

“--have to show our stuff to Flint tomorrow evening. It would have been today, but apparently he had detention for something.”

“Flint? As in Marcus Flint?” Hermione looks to Draco’s face, her expression pinched, and Draco looks back at her with a tilt to his head.

“Yeah? Why?” he says slowly. He knew of Marcus Flint, everyone in Slytherin did, he was the loud and proud captain of their Quidditch team, but Draco didn’t KNOW him. They had never met or interacted outside maybe passing each other food while at the Slytherin table. The guy kept to himself and his Quidditch buddies… which Draco supposes he was about to become.

“It’s just…” Hermione starts, but then she trails off and looks away. Draco waits for a second for her to continue, but when she doesn’t he steps a little closer to her and nudges her shoulder with his.

“Hey? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. Just… Be careful with that lot, okay? Don’t fall into their pack,” Hermione says quickly, too quickly, then picks up her pace. Draco nearly trips trying to keep up. “We have a Potions essay due soon. I think I’ll go ahead and start it,” she says briskly, making a turn for the corridor that would lead her towards the Gryffindor common room.

“That isn’t due for another two weeks. Hermione, really, what is it?” Draco presses, but Hermione is already getting away from him, head held high as she marches away. The blonde watches her back until she turns a corner, his chest tight with concern. What had that all been about? What was wrong with Marcus Flint?

It is only as he reaches the corridor that the Slytherin common room is hidden in that it hits him like a ton of bricks. He remembers a conversation at the Gryffindor table and Fred and George’s obvious distaste towards the Slytherins thanks to their Quidditch team. These were the cliché Slytherins. These were the ones that exemplified every, negative Slytherin stereotype. These were the ones everyone else used as an example when saying how bad Slytherin was.

And Marcus Flint was their ring leader.

Draco hadn’t thought of that. No one in Slytherin openly talked bad about each other, believing they couldn’t, that it would be betrayal, and the students at the Gryffindor table didn’t bring it up often anymore around Draco and Harry. Hermione, on the other hand, had probably heard, or even witnessed, far worse stories about these people than Draco. Of course she would be worried.

With a heavy sigh Draco enters his house’s common room. He suddenly felt very, very tired.

A few students are scattered about. Some are playing a game of Exploding Snaps at one of the tables while many are lounging about, talking, or doing homework. Draco spots Daphne sitting in an armchair she’s dragged to a corner, reading a book avidly, and when he catches her eye, she smiles at him. He tries to smile back.

They were all just students. They were normal kids who wanted to do well in classes. Sure, there were jerks here, Draco slept in the same dorm room as one of them, but there was no way there weren’t jerks in the other houses, too. They couldn’t be judged by the few, loud gits… but they were, and Draco wished he knew how to change that.

With a sigh Draco slips away to his dorm room. Blaise is sitting on his bed, writing in a notebook, and doesn’t respond when Draco enters. Harry is on his back in his own bed, Hedwig standing beside him and his hand idly cards through her white feathers. His other hand awkwardly tries to write on a parchment on his chest.

“Hey, Draco,” he greets cheerfully, smiling at the blonde as he moves to put his books on his bed and his backpack underneath. The messy-haired boy had been in a great mood ever since their talk with Sinistra and Draco would hate to throw him off that with deep, emotional talk about their house.

“Writing a letter to your dad?” Draco asks, sitting on his bed and reorganizing the books he’d brought in.

“Yeah. Mom’s excited for me and she wanted me to send dad the news myself,” Harry’s bright smile flickers for just a split second, but Draco spots it, “He’s going to be so proud! Seeker! At first year!”

Draco hums in agreement but says nothing. He picks up a book on Transfiguration titled _The Born Transfigure: Metamorphmagus_ and begins skimming through it absently. After a few beats Muddy slithers up his bed post and curls up like a cat at the foot of his bed, a fat spot in her middle. Draco narrows his eyes at it.

 _“Please tell me that isn’t someone’s pet,”_ he says. He feels the other boys in the room looking at him and he knows he must have fallen back into Parseltongue. He still doesn’t know how he does it, nor knows what it sounds like, but so far he hasn’t had any issues.

Muddy looks up at him with a twinkle in her eye and Draco suspects she would be smirking if she could. _”Wouldn’t you like to know,”_ she hisses, head swaying.

 _“I would. It is why I asked,”_ he grumbles.

 _”Relaaaaaax, I caught a little mouse in the kitchens. I think the house elves like me,”_ Muddy settles her head back down, but before Draco can ask what a house elf is Harry is clearing his throat. Draco looks towards him. Blaise is back to ignoring them, but Harry looks mildly uncomfortable.

“Listen…” Harry starts, not looking at Draco. His eyes are firmly glued to the far wall. “I was thinking… Since I have to send some letters out anyway… This could be a good time for you to give Hedwig a letter for Sirius.” Harry glances over at Draco through the corner of his eye and the blonde stiffens.

Right, his letter to Sirius. He had written over twenty drafts by then but had grown so stressed from it all he’d started avoiding the subject. What was he supposed to say? “Hey, I’m your cousin and also famous. Why did you abandon me?” Not even Draco thought that would be fair. He didn’t have all the facts, of course he didn’t, so he didn’t want to start pointing fingers… yet.

“I don’t know what to say,” Draco admits quietly and Harry is sliding out of his bed. He scuffles over, Hedwig on his shoulder, and climbs to sit cross legged on Draco’s bed.

“That’s fine! I can help, if you want,” he says, looking hopeful. Hedwig eyes Muddy down from her perch, but Harry simply scratches her feathers to keep her calm and Muddy doesn’t move, confident none of the humans will let her get eaten. “What do you have so far?”

Draco sighs and pulls out his most successful draft, handing over the parchment wordlessly. Harry reads over it a few times before trying to offer suggestions. Draco, tired and already not in the best mood, shoots most of them down. He doesn’t think he’ll be making any headway tonight, but then Harry surprises him by offering to write to Sirius himself and hopefully get a connection going.

Draco hardly says anything before Harry is doing just that. He writes out a quick letter then attaches both that one and the one to James to Hedwig’s leg. He gives her a treat before sending her off and the snowy owl flies up through the tube in their ceiling towards the surface. Draco is too stunned to respond, having not expected Harry to just take action like that. When Harry looks back at him he pouts.

“What? You weren’t doing anything, so I did,” he says defensively, absently rubbing the pad of one finger over Muddy’s head. Draco, flustered more than anything, also can’t help but feel particularly touched.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Don’t mention it,” Harry grins before sliding back over to his own bed.

Draco goes over a few more of his books before he determines it time to get ready for bed. Blaise has already pulled his curtains tight and Harry, already in his pajamas, had fallen asleep at some point while trying to read his History of Magic text. Draco has no idea where Theodore is, and he doesn’t care.

When the blonde steps out of the bathroom, feeling far more refreshed and ready for sleep, he catches a shadow outside their window. He had spotted the giant squid multiple times since that first night, sometimes as a distant shadow, but one time so close Draco saw its eye looking back at them. This shadow is smaller, though, and at first Draco thinks it could just be a fish, until he spots what he thinks are arms near the front.

Draco blinks in surprise, realizing something with a very humanoid face is staring back at him. It is blurry, the shape still a bit of a distance away in the water, but slowly Draco raises his hand to wave. No response.

Then, in the space between one blink and the next, the shape turns and swims away, tail flicking like a whip, and Draco is left to wonder in a daze.

.oOo.

The following evening Draco found himself scowling at his dinner, Harry beside him not looking much better. They had only just come in from their first meeting with Marcus Flint and both boys agreed the guy was a complete tool. “Cliché jock” almost seemed like too nice a term for him.

He’d given them both a rundown on the basics of Quidditch as well as their positions’ goals. That had all been fine, Draco had listened avidly because the elder boy really knew what he was talking about. The issue had been… everything else.

He had told them he would consider them, especially since Sinistra so rarely took personal interest in Quidditch, but if anyone at tryouts was better than what they showed him he had no qualms throwing them right off the team. He’d been brash and rude, sneering at Harry and making nasty comments about his family under his breath. He was at least impressed by their skills, but then he began to preen and say how perfect their team was and how they were far superior to any other house.

Draco wanted to punch him, and by the looks of things Harry was in agreement.

Nonetheless, getting to fly around and practice on the Turbo XX had left Draco feeling lighter than usual. Yes, Flint put a nasty damper on it, but Draco had never felt freer in his life. He didn’t even feel nauseas when he went too high, although he suspected that was because he felt like he was in control, unlike standing at the top of the Astronomy Tower. 

The Turbo XX was apparently a slightly older broom, if only by a few years, but Draco hardly noticed. It was significantly better than the school brooms, faster and easier to control, and Draco wondered if this was the broom Sinistra used when she just wanted to go out and fly around. He had no idea what she did in her free time, but this seemed like a great broom to go have some fun on.

Draco wondered how fast Harry’s Nimbus 2000 was.

Now back on the ground the two boys have the chance to finally process just what kind of jerk their captain truly was.

Down the Slytherin table, where they were currently eating, Flint was sitting with some of the students that had been playing Quidditch for years now. They were loud and obnoxious, sneering and laughing without any concern for manners.

“I’m beginning to see why Fred and George don’t like them,” Draco whispers and Harry snorts, glancing towards the group before returning to his food. He also was beginning to see why Hermione had been worried. From what Draco had gathered the whole team was made of purebloods, Harry being the only half-blood. They also made a very conscious effort to cause problems for the three muggleborns in their house. Or any muggleborn, for that matter… Gemma and William tried to intervene as often as they could, but it hardly lasted.

“No one _really_ likes them save for their own kind,” Daphne says primly from her seat across from them. She is cutting up her food with delicate, controlled movements, a pinky out where she holds her knife.

“Aren’t you a pureblood?” Draco questions her, eyes narrowing in confusion and suspicion. Daphne huffs, flicking her shining hair and giving Draco a disapproving look.

“By ‘their own kind’ I did not mean purebloods,” she sniffs.

“Gits, then?” Harry offers, smirking.

“Jerkwads?” Draco adds, head tilting.

“Complete losers?” Harry continues.

“I was going to say bigots, but those work as well,” Daphne says and, despite her high and mighty tone, she smiles, winking at the boys before going back to her food.

“I dunno,” Pansy hums a few seats down and Draco gives her a very unhappy glare. She isn’t affected by the look, though. She never is. “I think they’re kind of fit.”

“Fit for a beating,” Blaise suddenly says, and majority of their little group looks in surprise at the usually quiet boy. He glances up from his food and gives them all an unimpressed glare. “What? I’m not allowed to dislike people?”

“I can’t believe I missed a visit to Hagrids for that jerk, too,” Harry eventually bemoans once everyone gets back to their meals.

“You can always go see him tomorrow,” Draco shrugs, “It IS the weekends. And as much as Flint is a jerk, I know you’re excited to be playing Quidditch. You can’t hide how happy flying makes you.” Only a blind, deaf fool would be unable to tell how much Harry loved and belonged in the air. Even while having to use a school broom during their impromptu lesson Harry had been whooping and laughing and flying laps around Draco.

“Yeah…” Harry says weakly, but offers a smile to his friend. “It’s going to be so fun when we start officially playing.”

“Tryouts are this Sunday. Want to go watch with me?” Draco asks.

“And see who might replace us?” Harry hums, pretending to consider it, “Absolutely!”

That weekend the two boys end up running around more than they had planned. They visit Hagrid with Ron, both being loud and excited when they hear the news about Quidditch, then later hurry to McGonagall’s office so Draco can ask what he can do to get a broom. Their Transfiguration teacher seems stunned at the news they will be playing, then slightly bitter as she mumbles something about Sinistra. Draco can’t catch it, but McGonagall is then saying she will speak to Dumbledore about his options. It may turn out Draco will simply have to order a broom, but for now he simply has to wait.

They get dragged over to the Gryffindor table for most of their meals, everyone wanting to ask about how they got onto their Quidditch team and what they were planning on doing. It wasn’t being kept a secret, it seemed, and most of the Gryffindor players seemed pleased to have a “healthy chance at competition from the Slytherin team” and Draco didn’t miss some of the dirty looks from the Slytherin table. Theodore and Millicent looked particularly displeased.

Hermione, despite saying how she was happy for them, mostly stayed out of these conversations.

Being at the Gryffindor table so much also gave Draco the opportunity to talk to Greg and Vincent, see how they were doing, and ask if they had any books on sign language he could borrow. They’d immediately brightened and that evening at dinner had brought Draco a few books on British Sign Language. Hermione, finally interested, had asked what was going on.

“Well, obviously I want to communicate with Vince,” Draco begins and the shorter of the two boys smiles, seeming happier than Draco has ever seen him, “But I also was thinking… You know how I can see into the lake through the windows in Slytherin?” Hermione nods, eyes wide with intrigue, “Well, the other night I think I saw some kind of merperson! Obviously, we can’t hear each other, but what if I could teach them sign language?”

Hermione jumps quickly into a lecture on what she knows about the merpeople of the Wizarding World while Greg and Vincent start telling Draco how they had learned sign language early on. Draco takes notes from both conversations, writing out a lesson plan for himself as well as noting what he thinks are important cultural points to do with merpeople. Hermione, in an excited tizzy, eventually leaves to go searching for books in the library to do with aquatic beings.

“I didn’t realize you two lived together,” Draco says while trying to set up a spreadsheet for his future BSL lessons. He was already learning more than he’d planned just from sitting and talking to the two boys.

“Yeah…” Greg says slowly and Draco looks up. Vincent is staring at his food now, poking at the plate heaped with meat. “Vince lives with me and my grandparents.” Draco doesn’t outwardly respond and, when he simply nods, Greg and Vincent both seem to sag in relief.

Draco, of all people, should know not to push the subject of parentage. From growing up in a foster home he had learned that the subject of parents was usually the most painful, and if someone wanted to share than it was up to them. Ada had always been blunt about everything save for her blood family and Draco still didn’t know what had happened to them, and no one ever pushed. Frederick, however, had eventually told Draco his parents were still alive, but had absolutely no way of supporting him.

If Greg and Vincent wanted to tell Draco about their families that was up to them, not Draco.

The conversation brightened again when Hermione returned, a stack of books in hand, and slammed them down on the table with a loud thud. Greg and Vincent looked slightly green at the sight of so many books, but dutifully picked up the thinnest ones when Hermione bullied them into it.

The following day was busy as well. Tryouts were in the afternoon, which left Draco not long to hunt down Professor Flitwick. He had tried to wait until his next Charms class, but Draco was not usually a patient person and had desperately wanted to ask some of his new questions. Flitwick was a good sport about it, at least, and smiled brightly when Draco appeared at his office. He urged Draco on whenever he paused, thinking he was being too obnoxious, and Draco was grateful for that.

“You certainly take your Charm work seriously, Mr. Malfoy,” Flitwick said as Draco was scribbling down something in his notebook. The blonde quickly hid his blush behind said notebook.

“How can I not?” Draco mumbles, trying to get the heat in his cheeks to go down, and he hears Flitwick chuckle. “I grew up without any of this. It feels like a waste to not try to figure out as much as I can.”

Another chuckle and Draco glances over his notes to see his teacher smiling warmly at him. “So smart and clever. You would have done well in Ravenclaw, I think.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Draco nods, finally lowering his book. “I just… I really like the idea of making something of my own. There seems to be near limitless possibilities when it comes to magic and… I just really want to take advantage of that.” Draco then flips through his notes to the pages where he had begun writing out spell ideas. They’d gone through countless revisions as he actually learned about magic and he shows them to Professor Flitwick.

The small teacher squeaks when he gets a look at the notes, eyes sparkling in excitement. “So creative, too! Hum, hum, let’s see here,” Flitwick flips through Draco’s pages and makes a few notes for him to go over. He also tells Draco which ones already exist and where to find them in the library. He pauses on the “variation spells”; the attempts Draco had made at making small changes to pre-existing spells.

“A marvelous first step in magic development,” Flitwick says, applauding Draco and making him blush again. He then turns to the page on Lumos and pulls out his own wand. Draco mimics him a second later. “Now, this one already exists, and I can show you it,” Flitwick says, handing Draco back his notebook on the page that reads “Colorful Lumos?”

“ _Lumos Viridis_ ,” Flitwick says clearly and the tip of his wand lights up with a green ball of light. Draco’s eyes widen in amazement and he tries to mimic the spell.

He doesn’t get it, which simply means he needs to practice, and Flitwick tells him which additions to the incantation create which colors. He also requests Draco show him what he manages to do by their next Charms class.

After that Draco has to rush out to lunch and as he eats at the Gryffindor table, Hermione reading over the notes Flitwick had given him, he tries to cast the Wand-Lighting Charm in as many colors as he can. None are a complete success, but he does manage a small, purple flicker with _Lumos Purpureus_ , so he thinks he must be doing something right.

When Harry drags him to the Quidditch pitch it is with Ron in tow, Hermione staying behind to study. They find a spot in the stands to watch as each house has their turn with tryouts, other students coming and going throughout.

Gryffindor is first, which Ron and Harry show particular interest in, and they keep Draco informed of anything he doesn’t quite get. Ron has everyone’s names memorized, which Draco thinks is unnecessary, but they all cheer louder than necessary when the twins appear and tryout for Beater.

“They’ve been Beaters since their second year,” Ron says with an eyeroll, “There’s no way they’ll get replaced this year.”

“Just going through the motions, then?” Draco clarifies, watching in interest, and Ron grunts an affirmative.

After the Gryffindors leave it is Hufflepuff’s turn. Some of the spectators also head out and a near herd of students take their place. Draco assumes they must be from Hufflepuff. He doesn’t know why else they’d be here.

Again, Harry and Ron keep Draco updated as the tryouts continue. Ron doesn’t know all the names of every student this time, but he can point out some of the returning players. The same thing happens for Ravenclaw when it is their turn next. By this time the Weasley twins have showered and joined them to “Check out the competition.”

Things do get momentarily interesting here when a first year, shaky and trying out on a school broom, goes too high and when they try to veer down nearly flies right off their broom. They end up grabbing the handle at the last second, falling downward, spinning 360 degrees around the handle, then landing right back on the broom. By the wide-eyed look on their face they’re just as surprised as everyone else. The twins immediately start cheering, getting the whole crowd of spectators to join in and make the kid blush and smile.

Then comes the Slytherin tryouts and everyone seems to tense around Draco. Flint barks orders like none of the other captains had, smug with his power and not afraid to flaunt it. All the positions are tested about the same as all the other houses had, but when it comes time for the Seeker tryouts Flint appears to give everyone easier tasks.

“He’s trying to kick Harry off the team!” Ron yelps at the same time Draco realizes it. Their little group immediately gets angry, Fred and George yelling obscenities up at Flint while Ron demands fair play. Harry falls silent, just staring blankly up at all the fliers, and Draco really, truly wishes he could punch Marcus Flint right about now.

Thankfully, even with all the simpler tasks, none of the Seeker tryouts are anywhere near as good as Harry, and based on Flint’s scowl he knows that too. Draco quickly advises the three Weasleys not to make any comments, just smile at Flint. That will really infuriate him.

They do as told, grinning and smirking up at the Slytherin captain when he glances down, and he fumes as he finishes up the tryouts.

“Training your lions, I see,” snickers a voice behind them and all five boys turn around quickly, eyes narrowing when they spy Millicent, Theodore, and Pansy a few stands up from them. Millicent and Theodore are smirking down at them, vicious as ever, while Pansy looks up dreamily at all the sweaty witches and wizards in the air.

“What do you three want?” Ron snaps first, standing up and glaring back at the Slytherin bullies.

“We only came to watch the tryouts. Are we not allowed to do that?” Millicent questions, feigning innocence and fluttering her eyelashes.

“You can. You could have also done it as far away from us as possible,” Harry retorts coldly, hands clutching into fists as he stands beside Ron, the two staring down Millicent and Theodore. The twins also stand, one on either side of the two boys, looking defiant and ready to fight, and Draco, with a heavy sigh, joins them.

“You worried about your chances, boys?” Millicent continues, ignoring Harry. Her mouth stretches into a smirk.

“Those were some pretty good tryouts,” Pansy agrees, but she seems distant, her smile not entirely there. She is still watching all the Slytherins in the air and Draco rolls his eyes.

“They have nothing to worry about,” Fred - or George? - says with a nod, one hand patting Draco on the shoulder. George - or Fred? - on the far side agrees.

“You sure about that?” Theodore hums, smirking and tapping his chin with a finger as he glances up at the fliers. They were beginning to make their way down to the ground. “I’m sure it doesn’t take much to replace some half-blood twerp--”

“Oh my god!” Draco exclaims, cutting Theodore off as he throws his hands skyward. “Will you just _shut up_ about blood already! No one cares! Literally no one cares! You act like if he cut his wrists he’d bleed purple, or something stupid like that!” He was so sick and tired and this obsession with blood status within Slytherin. Sure, it was only a few people, but it was so, ridiculously ignorant and pigheaded that Draco was on his last straw.

Theodore, Millicent, and Pansy have all turned surprised, wide eyes on him, but are fast to wipe it away. Now they are sneering, displeased and agitated. “You wouldn’t know anything about blood, orphan,” Millicent snarls and Draco has his wand out before he even realizes it, pointing it straight between Millicent’s beady eyes.

Silence falls, everyone frozen as they wait for something to happen, and Draco would love to throw a hex or two he’d been learning, but he knows it won’t do him any good. It will only succeed in losing them house points and getting him thrown in detention since he doubts their bullies have no qualms with being a bunch of snitches.

Slowly he lowers his wand, glaring coldly at Millicent who, the moment she realizes she’s out of the woods, scoffs. “Really? Nothing? I thought you lions were all supposed to be courageous or something? Turns out you’re just a coward.”

Draco snarls, but it is Ron who jumps to his defense. “Shut up, Bulstrode! None of us are cowards!”

Theodore scoffs, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes skyward in disbelief. “Oh yeah? Prove it,” he says coolly, looking down his long nose at them. He’s probably going for menacing, but Draco thinks he just looks like a dumb, thin bird. Like a stork or a crane.

“Seriously?” the twin on the far side of the group from Draco says, arching a brow and smirking. “Do you hear this, Fred?”

Fred, the one beside Draco, throws his head back to laugh. It sounds incredibly fake. “They want us to test our mettle!”

“Not all of you,” Theodore cuts in, ignoring the twins as they continue to smirk at him. “Just him,” he points straight at Draco, who arches a brow back, “And him,” he moves his pointer finger towards Harry, who straightens up and glares defiantly back.

“Why only them?” Ron demands and Harry had to hold him back to keep him from moving up the seats.

“They’re the ones that so desperately want to be Gryffindors,” Millicent smiles widely. Draco, distantly, thinks she looks kind of like a muppet. “They’re the ones that should… test themselves.”

“We don’t need to prove anything,” Draco says evenly, but he’s ignored when Harry speaks over him.

“What would you even want us to do?” He sounds challenging, like he’s trying to call them on their bluff, and Draco really wishes he could kick him. They weren’t in any position to be calling them out, they didn’t have enough leverage. Denial was their best bet right now.

The trio of bullies appear to consider the question and Draco opens his mouth, hoping he can dispel this situation, but Pansy cuts him off. “We dare you to go up to the forbidden third floor corridor.” Draco is grateful that the twins at least give each other an uncertain look over Harry and Ron’s heads, but they don’t actually step in to stop this.

“That’s it? Just walk up to the third floor corridor?” Ron huffs, crossing his arms and trying to look more important than he is.

“The _forbidden_ one, yes,” Pansy nods and Theodore and Millicent are smirking beside her.

Ron scoffs, sharp enough to yet again cut Draco off, and says, “That’s nothing!”

“Tonight, then?” Theodore says far too cheerfully, clapping his hands and smiling. It makes him look creepy.

“Uh, Ron,” George begins, finally trying to step in, but now it is Harry who cuts in.

“Tonight! You’re on!”

“Harry, buddy, relax,” Fred tries, but he’s ignored, too. Draco, realizing just how quickly he’d been thrown into deep water, scrambles to make a last-ditch attempt to get them out of this.

“One of you has to come with us,” he says, head up in faux confidence. “You won’t know if we actually manage to make it unless one of you comes with us.” The trio hesitates and Draco desperately hopes they reconsider. If he could scare them out of this it would be perfect, and then he could tear Harry and Ron a new one.

Except it seemed he just wasn’t going to get very lucky today because Theodore begins to smirk, vicious and cruel, and takes a single step forward to a lower stand. “I will. What do I have to worry about? You’ll only just end up running away in the end and I can go back to bed.”

“Deal!” Ron exclaims and Theodore’s smirk only worsens, making Draco glare even harder.

Once the trio finally leaves, appeased for the time being, both Fred and George groan in unison and shake their heads. “Quite the predicament, Fred,” says George.

“Quite a pickle, George,” says Fred.

“Bit of a jam, Fred,” says George, and the twins are slowly moving away. Draco spots them throwing cautious eyes at Draco, who has begun to seethe.

“A dire situation you could say, George,” says Fred. Draco has turned his glare on Harry and Ron by now, who seem to finally have realized what they’ve done, their eyes wide and looking anywhere but at him.

“Over a barrel even, right Fred?” says George.

“Oh yes, George, this IS an awkward situation,” says Fred.

Without any further words Draco throws a Stinging Hex at both Harry and Ron, relishing in their yelps, then marches back to the castle on his own and not a single look backwards.

.oOo.

Harry attempts to apologize throughout the rest of the day but Draco will hear none of it. He makes it clear he wants to be left alone and, at some point, ends up in the Greenhouse where he absently tends to some of the more harmless plant life and practices the colorful Wand-Lighting spells. Harry, thankfully, leaves him alone after that.

By the time Draco needs to head inside he’s managed to hold a purple light for a few seconds and gotten a flicker of yellow. He’s also in a much better mood.

Whenever he got particularly angry or upset back home, he often would hide out somewhere, usually the Nubble’s garden, until he could cool off. He knew he got snippy and impatient and would often hurt people’s feelings otherwise, so he found time for himself was usually his best option. Plus, plants didn’t judge him, and here in the Greenhouse he could go over his notes for Herbology and get some much-needed studying in.

Back in the Slytherin common room Draco finds Harry sitting in one of the couches, trying his hardest to finish up some Charms homework, and Draco quietly takes a seat next to him and offers to help. It is a peace offering and no further words are needed, especially when Harry looks so relieved, realizing all is fine between them as they go through the questions.

As night falls and the common room is deserted, however, dread begins to swirl in Draco’s gut. He tries to bury it or push it to the side, focusing on Harry’s homework instead or trying to catch sight of certain shadows in the lake or practicing his new Wand-Lighting tricks. Nothing really works and Draco just feels more and more anxious as the minutes tick by.

The sound of footsteps has both boys looking up as Theodore enters the common room from their dorm, looking far too pleased with himself. “You ready, boys? Or are you too scared?” he just about purrs and Draco stands to meet him, stamping down on his emotions until he thinks he can answer calmly.

“We don’t back down, I’m afraid. Unfortunate for you, I’m sure,” he replies evenly. Behind him Harry has also stood up but remains silent. Theodore levels them both with a sour look and Draco thinks he looks just a touch worried, but he could be imagining that. “Well? Are we going?” Draco makes a motion with his hand, inviting Theodore to lead the way, and smirking when the boy hesitates.

They don’t manage to get Theodore to call the dare off, however, and a second later they are sneaking through the corridors as quietly as possible. Harry and Draco stick close together, trying to create as small a figure as possible if someone might catch a glimpse of them. Draco nearly tears Theodore a new one when his nice shoes squeak through the first few halls, but he at least takes them off and carries them the rest of the way.

They don’t say a single word outside of the necessary, ducking behind tapestries or into alcoves and corridors whenever they hear footsteps. At one point Filch walks straight past their hiding spot, grumbling to himself and waving a lantern around in his hand. They slip out and hustle to put some distance between them and the caretaker.

They don’t see Mrs. Norris, though, which makes Draco’s hairs stand on end. He didn’t like not knowing where she was. She was a lot quieter than her owner and could appear much more abruptly.

“How much farther?” Draco hisses under his breath, glaring daggers at the back of Theodore’s head, who turns to shoot his own glare back. He doesn’t get an answer.

Thankfully, or not, they soon are clambering up a set of stairs and ducking into an abandoned, dark hallway. All the other halls and rooms in Hogwarts were alight with torchlight, but this hall was dark and lifeless and cold. Colder than the dungeons.

“This place gives me the willies,” Harry says softly to Draco, looking around at the deserted hall. It doesn’t even feel like a ghost would come here.

“You getting scared there, Harry-kins?” Theodore mocks, having stopped in the middle of the hall, looking around at all the doors, and Harry scowls at him.

“We made it here, didn’t we? Now let’s find the forbidden corridor so we can go back alrea--” Harry is cut off by high-pitched giggling. The three boys look to the far end of the hall where, floating right in the light from the far windows, is Peeves. Draco had only seen the poltergeist at a distance, he tended to stay away from wherever the Bloody Baron might wander, but there was no Bloody Baron here.

“Uh oh,” Peeves sing songs, volume low like he actually cares about keeping them a secret. Draco’s heart plummets when the floating man’s smile only grows, promising no good. “Ickle first years…” his voice very slowly was getting louder and all three boys begin shaking their heads, silently pleading him to stop. Peeves takes a deep, unnecessary breath, and then yells, “OUT OF BED?!”

Theodore shrieks in panic, looking around with wide eyes, and Harry looks frantic as he hisses at Peeves, begging him to stop, but the poltergeist just keeps yelling, attracting someone in authority for sure. Draco, who forces every last bit of his panic deep into the depths of his mind, looks around for a way out. It’s a hallway, right? Maybe they can hide in one of the rooms?

He hurries over to one a few steps down the hall and Harry and Theodore follow, not even asking questions when he starts moving. They can hear footsteps in the distance, sounding like an awkward, limping gait that must belong to Filch, and Draco grabs the door handle. He pulls but the door doesn’t budge. Theodore, panicked, also grabs the door handle and they pull together, but it is locked tight.

“Don’t run, ickle first years! Stay! Stay!” Peeves is still yelling down the hallway. Harry, growing more and more frantic by the second, kicks the door, but that does nothing.

“No, no, no, no,” Theodore keeps mumbling under his breath and Draco, scowling viciously, rips out his wand from his sleeve and points it at the lock on the door. The moment he was allowed to start practicing magic he had started testing the spell he’d seen McGonagall use and now seemed like the perfect time to put it into practice.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” he says firmly, tapping the lock, and he hears a click from within as it unlocks under his magic.

They waste no time as they shove their way inside, closing the door, then pressing close to the wooden surface to hear who might go by. It was still possible that Peeves would rat them out, but there was no where they could go where that wasn’t the case. Now they just needed to wait and hope.

“You saw someone?” they hear the unmistakable voice of Filch speak a moment later.

“Maybes I did… Maybes I didn’t,” Peeves hums, laughter coloring his words.

Filch growls and Draco thinks he hears a cat hiss unhappily. “Well? Which way did they go, Peeves? Tell me quickly!”

“Say ‘please.’”

Harry actually has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud and Theodore elbows him roughly, glaring. Draco retaliates by stepping on his foot and smirking when he has to bite back a yelp.

“Don’t mess with me, Peeves, tell me where they went!”

“Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please.”

“All right. _Please_.”

“NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you didn’t say please!”

Peeves says something else, Draco is sure of it, and he wants to feel relieved that they weren’t about to be found out, but he’s distracted by what feels like hot, humid wind hitting his back. He glances back, expecting to see an open window, maybe, but freezes like a deer in headlights at what he finds.

Without saying a word Draco begins smacking Harry’s arm, trying to get him to turn around, but he and Theodore are still listening at the door. “I think he’s gone,” Harry whispers and Theodore nods. 

“He probably thinks the door’s locked,” the tallest boy whispers back, but Draco is still smacking Harry’s arm, this time more roughly. “Merlin, Malfoy, what is wrong with you?” Theodore snaps, having spotted Draco’s actions. Then the other two boys are turning around as well and stiffening.

They aren’t in a room like Draco had originally suspected, but rather a corridor. With a dog in it. A dog as massive as a house, with three heads, three pairs of mad eyes, three noses, and three drooling mouths filled with giant, sharp teeth.

Well… at least they’d found the forbidden corridor…

Theodore takes in a sharp breath and, without looking back, Draco smacks a hand over his mouth to keep him from yelling. The giant beast is staring right at them, but that’s all. Just staring. Yelling could very easily set it off.

It’s just a dog, Draco tries to tell himself, and he motions to Harry to try and open the door so they can leave. When the other boy moves, however, the beast’s three mouths pull back and it snarls, a deep, guttural noise that makes Draco want to faint. It looked ready to lunge and Theodore whimpers against Draco’s hand. The blonde looks back and forth, trying to find something he can use to distract the beast, and without a second thought he snatches Theodore’s shoes from his hands. It is a testament to how frightened they all are that the tall boy doesn’t even complain.

“Hey, doggie, doggie,” Draco says softly, voice shaking, and he holds out the shoes for the beast to see. The head on the far right pauses and tilts its head curiously, but the other two keep snarling. “You’re just a big, sweet puppy, aren’t you? You must love chewing up shoes, right? All puppies love chewing up shoes,” Draco continues. Harry has grabbed ahold of his robes, holding on tight like he either wants to pull Draco back or hide behind him.

Draco holds the shoes up by their laces now, waving them back and forth, and now all three heads look curious, watching them sway. “You do!” Draco’s lips twitch in victory and he motions at Harry to grab for the door again. “Okay, then… go FETCH!” he pulls back and chucks the shoes at the beast. The head on the far left snatches up one of them from the air, while the middle and right head begin pulling at the other one in a game of tug-o-war.

Those shoes will last that giant beast about three seconds before they destroy them, but it is enough time for Harry to rip open the door and all three boys to tumble out. Filch is gone, probably off in search of them elsewhere, and Peeves has finally disappeared. They hardly waste any time, taking the opportunity for what it is and sprinting at full speed back down to the dungeons.

“Anguis!” Theodore calls as they get near enough to their common room, but then he runs smack into the unchanged brick wall and falls backwards onto his rear, clutching his nose.

“Serves you right,” Harry hisses, not at all in a good mood, and Draco hurries to relay the new password Theodore had forgotten.

“Venom!” The wall vanishes and they hurry into their common room, collapsing ungracefully in a heap on the floor. For a moment they don’t move, just try to catch their breath and put their psyches back together again.

“That…” Harry begins, rolling to the side and laying on his back, “Was awful.”

“What does Dumbledore think he’s doing?!” Theodore exclaims, sitting up, his voice nasally as he still holds his nose. Draco hopes it’s broken. “Why would anyone keep something like that in a school?! Fat, ugly dog…”

“It’s a Cerberus,” Draco wheezes. He hated running so much.

“What? You read that in one of your books?” Theodore sneers and Draco rolls his eyes, sitting up as well, leaving only Harry laid out on the cool, stone floor.

“I noticed it, sure, but just about any _Muggle_ you ask would know _that_. Why don’t you?” Draco was in absolutely no mood to deal with Theodore anymore. Who didn’t know that a three-headed dog was a Cerberus? Albeit, in mythology Cerberus had been only one individual, but still.

Thankfully they are all too drained to hold much of an argument and Theodore relents, looking away and pouting. “Still doesn’t answer why it’s here.”

“Maybe for Care of Magical Creatures? That might be the best place to keep a Cerberus,” Draco suggests, but he sees Harry’s raven hair sway as he shakes his head, eyes still locked on the ceiling.

“It was standing on something. A door, maybe? A trapdoor?” Harry says, “I spotted it when you were waving the shoes at it.”

“And that’s another thing!” Theodore shrieks, scrambling to stand and glaring viciously down at Draco. “You gave it my brand new shoes to play with!”

“Would you have preferred it played with our skulls?” Harry snaps, not missing a beat, and Theodore splutters. When the tall boy has nothing more to say he scowls and spins on his heel, marching back to their dorms. They hardly miss him.

“So…” Draco begins, glancing down at Harry beside him. “Do you think that thing was guarding something?”

“Could be? Makes the most sense. Question is: what?” Harry shrugs, looking back up at Draco.

“I may have a theory,” the blonde whispers, chewing his lower lip and glancing away. He’d been wondering about the forbidden third floor corridor ever since reading about the Gringotts break-in. It seemed even more likely now that whatever had been in that vault, which Hagrid had probably emptied, was hidden away in that trapdoor.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, just… let me look into it a bit more, first. I’d hate to start any rumors or get your hopes up,” Draco looks down at Harry with a pleading look in his eyes, hoping he won’t push the issue. Thankfully Harry is not as immune to the look as the Nubbles had been and the boy sighs and nods. “Let’s head back to bed, then… We have classes tomorrow morning.”

Harry groans, squirming where he lay, but doesn’t get up. Draco rolls his eyes at him and reaches out to ruffle his hair more roughly than necessary. “Come on. I’m sure the cold, hard ground is very comfy, but I’m not carrying you to our room,” the blonde smirks as he stands, hands coming to his hips and he looks down at Harry. When the boy doesn’t immediately get up Draco kicks his side, then runs for the dorm room as Harry yelps and scrambles to chase after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed it and have a wonderful day!
> 
> Also, I am always happy to hear your thoughts.
> 
> Chapter Song: [Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better - Betty Hutton and Howard Keel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WO23WBji_Z0)


	10. Gadgets and Near Death Experiences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stress writing can really bring you far, can't it? Still uncertain how consistent I'll be with future updates, fair warning, but I hope you all enjoy the new chapter and have a wonderful day! Thank you, also, for all the kind words after last chapter. They mean more than you realize.

The following morning Draco and Harry are dragged aside before they can get into the Entrance Hall by an excited Ron and furious Hermione. Ron wants to know everything that happened while Hermione, who only heard about all this by accident, lectures them on rules until Ron snaps at her.

Draco, still exhausted after everything, doesn’t have the energy to share much or even stand up for his friend when she storms away.

Thankfully the rest of the day is quite normal. They go through their classes and try to focus on anything but the knowledge that a giant Cerberus currently slumbers right there in their school. 

Potions is entertaining, at least, seeing as it is one of their scheduled “fun potions” days and Lily leads them through a very simple potion that temporarily changes the drinker’s hair into all kinds of fabrics. The room is filled with raucous laughter as each student drinks a successful “Fabricap” Potion. Draco’s hair becomes layers of silk that he can’t stop touching, Harry’s turns into a mess of colorful patchwork that squishes like a pillow, Hermione’s hair bounces up into a mane of fluffy wool, and Ron’s hair looks like a red, springy bathroom carpet.

It all lasts just long enough for the whole class to walk out into the halls towards their next classes, still in fits of giggles, and Draco takes great joy that Theodore’s hair looks to morph into itchy, woven wool.

By the middle of Herbology everyone Slytherin’s hair returns to normal and Professor Sprout is trying not to roll her eyes at them.

At the end of Charms Draco stops to show Professor Flitwick his colorful Wand-Lighting progress, getting applauds and a few more tips. Draco thinks modifying spells, and in turn crafting new ones, is a lot more complex than he had originally expected, but he finds it invigorating and interesting.

When he tries to talk to Hermione about it that evening, however, she wants nothing to do with him, still upset about what he had done the previous night. It seems their exciting Potions class wasn’t quite enough to put her into a good mood with him, so he leaves her be and lets her sort out her grievances. There’s no point in pushing her, he knew that, just as there was never any point in pushing him. They both needed time to manage their negative moods when they got to be too much. They were truly birds of a feather…

This left Draco with time to himself. Usually he would be in the library with Hermione by now, but now he wasn’t sure what to do. Harry and Ron were off hanging out and, as much as he may have begun to warm up to the youngest Weasley boy Draco didn’t want to cut in on the two friends’ time.

In the end Draco decides to grab the Turbo XX from his room and head outside to practice. Harry called him a natural on the broom, but Draco knew he still had plenty of work to do.

No one had booked the Quidditch pitch that evening, practice for the teams had yet to begin and it was too early in the year for anyone to have set up mock games, but that didn’t mean it was deserted. Usually people would come and hang out in the stands, enjoying the wind and the outdoors, but as Draco walked onto the pitch, broom in hand, he found someone sitting in the grass with a mess of supplies all around them. Curious, Draco walked closer.

Vivian Wilcom is completely at ease in her spot in the grass, her dark red hair tied back in a messy bun as she tinkers with a little, metal device. Draco doesn’t know her very well, she tended to function mostly at night, and also kept to herself. She was boisterous and protective, sure, but she hardly went out of her way to make friends, seemingly comfortable in her own company, and Draco didn’t have much chance to interact with people outside his own year.

“What are you doing, Wilcom?” Draco questions, trying to get a better look at his housemate’s project. She was always tinkering with something or mumbling about inventions and experiments.

Vivian looks up, startled from the noise, and grins when she sees Draco. “Well, hullo Dray-Dray!”

“Seriously, please don’t call me that,” Draco sighs, already regretting approaching the girl. He should just mount his broom and start practicing already.

“Ten-four, Dray-buddy!” Draco sighs, deeply, and the muggleborn Slytherin continues, “I’m just workin’ on a little doo-dad. A bit of a gadget. A gizmo, if you will.” She holds up the metal device. It looks kind of like a rudder made of orangish-gold, with leather straps and all kinds of dials. It looks like it could be attached to a pole… Or…

“Is that for a broom?” Draco questions, tilting his head.

“Yes sir! It’s supposed to, when attached, make a broom turn waaaaaay sharper than usual without losing any speed,” Vivian replies, looking pleased, her green eyes crinkling into slits when she grins. “I wanna build stuff for flying when I get out of here. Stuff for brooms, definitely, but also new forms of travel? It’s super complex, and I wanna mix Muggle tech into it since it is so much more advanced.”

Draco snorts, nodding and leaning against his broom. “Tell me about it,” he agrees. He was still surprised how behind the Wizarding World was when it came to technology. Certainly, they had magic, but a telephone couldn’t hurt, either.

“Have you noticed how dumb magic money is?”

“Yes!” Draco exclaims, but stops himself before he throws himself into that rant again. He had already bothered far too many people with his frustrations with money. “So,” he clears his throat, “You want to make flying stuff?”

“And flying accessories, sure,” Vivian nods and she turns back to her gadget, “At first it was for money, but now I just really wanna show the Wizarding World what they’re missing with Muggle stuff. Witches and wizards are so picky, stickin’ their nose up at anything that can’t defy the laws of physics on its own.”

“It is pretty frustrating,” Draco agrees and he looks up towards the sky. It was clear and beautiful with a nice breeze to counteract the slight warmth that the remainder of summer was allowing them. “So…” he starts slowly, an idea dawning on him. If Hermione wanted to fume that was fine, but Draco still wanted to talk to somebody about his spell ideas. “You invent.”

“As has been established,” Vivian hums sarcastically, still fiddling with the gadget. She didn’t look to be really doing anything at this point, just poking and proding.

“You have any pointers?”

Vivian looks up at him sharply, her eyes narrowing, before she questions, dubious, “You wanna invent shit?”

“Not gadgets,” he admits, “I won’t step on your big toes.” Vivian wasn’t big as in tall, but she was short and stout, and now that Draco was this close to her, he could see she had arms as thick as some of the players on the Quidditch team. “I like the idea of making new spells, though.”

“Oh? Hum…” Vivian tilts her head back and squints at the sky, considering. “Tell you what… you take that broom o’ yours and test out my little lady, here,” she shakes her gadget for emphasis, “And I’ll give you as many pointers as you like.”

Draco eyes the rudder, then glances down at the Turbo XX. He kept the broom in his dorm room instead of the broom shed because it wasn’t actually his own. He didn’t want it getting unnecessarily damaged or messed with while entrusted in his care. Would using it to test some experimental tool be such a good idea?

The device didn’t seem harmful, though, so Draco figures a small test shouldn’t be bad, and he agrees, letting Vivian strap the device underneath the Turbo XX’s bristles. “Just fly around and try to make as sharp turns as you can. The gadget will handle the rest,” Vivian instructs and Draco sighs, but climbs onto the broom.

Pushing off feels like freeing himself from reality. For a second when he separates from the earth Draco feels like he is lifting into his own little world, like he has transitioned into another existence. Then he’s coming back into his own, eyes taking in his surroundings, fingers and feet adjusting until he’s comfortable and confident. He glances down and Vivian throws a thumbs up at him.

He starts going about what he planned to do already; practice his flying maneuvers. Everything feels normal, if a bit slower thanks to the weight of the metal rudder, so he tries for a sharper turn, like the gadget was built for. 

The broom immediately swivels so quickly it flings Draco’s hair around and he has to stop to regain his balance. He tries again, more cautious and prepared this time, and manages a swift turn before flying forward. The gadget definitely worked while floating in place, but what about while moving?

Flying closer to the ground Draco picks up some speed, grabs the handle tightly, and _turns_.

The force is so tight and sudden he goes rocketing off the broom and tumbles a few times through the grass. Even when he settles on his back, a leg still up and over his head, the world keeps spinning and he feels a nasty pain in his right shoulder. Groaning he drops his leg, laying in the grass and dirt, trying to get his bearings.

Red hair and green eyes pop up in his wobbly vision a second later and he glares up at Vivian as she cackles at him, the Turbo XX in her hand, unharmed. “Nice tuck and roll, Dray-meister!”

“I hate you,” Draco snarls and he’s pretty sure he means it. He was never doing another experiment for the woman ever again. “It works though…”

“Noted,” Vivian says cheerfully, then reaches down and hoists Draco up with one arm, not even grunting. She was either way too strong, or Draco needed to pack on a few pounds.

She hands him back the broom, detaching the gadget and returning to where all her materials are scattered. She plops right back down in the grass. Draco, still bitter and testy, rolls his sore shoulder and goes to join her, sitting delicately on the grass across from the redhead.

“I got some great data from that, actually,” Vivian hums, absently digging through a bag. Her arm is buried within the bag all the way to her shoulder, but the bag itself is quite small, just a leather handbag. “Here. I get banged up from all this crap all the time,” she tosses Draco a potion of some kind and, feeling far too agitated and aching, he pops it open and drinks it. A few seconds later his shoulder tingles and then stops hurting completely.

“You’ll get banged up too, I imagine, tryin’ to invent spells. It can go in WAY worse ways than all my stuff,” Vivian hums and finally looks up at Draco. “Who, what, when, where, why, and how.”

Draco’s silver eyes narrow and his nose scrunches up. Sure, he no longer hurt, but he was still in a sour mood thanks to this girl. He really didn’t have any time for nonsense anymore. “Excuse me, what is that supposed to mean? Have you lost it?”

“Yes,” Vivian smirks immediately, “But that’s beside the point. Those are the best questions you can ask yourself when developing something new. Who is the spell for? You or someone else? What is it supposed to do? When and where would it be used? Why are you making it? And, most importantly, how will you develop it?”

“I’ve started considering modifying spells in ways they haven’t before,” Draco says, crossing his arms and tilting his head.

“Good place to start, yes sir, yes sir,” the redhead nods, rolling her device back and forth in her hands. “You already got part of the spell developed so the rest should be easier. It’s also real important to change up the way you approach things. With inventin’ anything you’re gonna run into… SO MANY roadblocks, and usually you have to completely change your frame of mind to get past it.”

“And spell work is all about your frame of mind,” Draco nods, sighing as he concedes. So much to do with spells had to do with what he was thinking. How he was envisioning things. The way he imagined the outcome or the process. He pulls out his wand from his sleeve, eying the shiny black wood. “I’ve been trying to cast Lumos in multiple colors since yesterday and it is causing me more issues than I expected,” he says and Vivian tilts her head at him, all ears. “It’s a modifier that already exists, but perhaps my issue is how I am picturing it in my head.”

“Maybe,” Vivian shrugs.

He had been envisioning his colorful Wand-Lighting attempts as just another Lumos but with an added factor, like dye in water. Perhaps if he tried to conjure a unique light all its own that begins and ends as a certain color… it could work? “ _Lumos Viridis_!” he says firmly, the new image in his head. He tries to force out the image and energy behind it through his arm and to the tip of his wand.

For a second a ball of green light glows at the end of his wand, strong and steady, until it flickers out a few seconds later. Vivian “Oooh’s” at it before clapping and grinning. “Problem is,” Draco sighs, lowering his wand, “I have more of a frame of reference with the spells and modifiers that already exist. Inventing my own…”

“You gotta come up with it all anew,” Vivian finishes, nodding, then goes back to grinning, “But you’re only a first year and it has only been, what? Three weeks? Two weeks or something? You have… SO MUCH time.”

“Yeah… yeah I do,” Draco sighs deeply, hanging his head and letting his still-messy hair fall in his eyes.

He ends up not getting much flying practice in. Vivian, in a bid to make Draco feel better, ends up talking with him for a while on some of her own inventing processes. It gives him a few ideas, especially when they go into charm work and how fluid but fickle it can be when applying it for very specific purposes.

Then it is finally time for dinner and Draco groans. “I hardly even flew today,” he whines, not caring how childish he sounds. His foul mood was still lingering but now he had nothing specific to aim it at. Especially after Vivian had stayed with him and helped him out so much. He could be angry with her later, but not while she was being so nice.

“Just go night flyin’,” Vivian shrugs.

“Not allowed to leave at night save for Astronomy class,” Draco sighs, ignoring the stab of guilt when he remembers last night, standing and brushing off some of the grass on his pants. He doesn’t offer to help as Vivian begins collecting all her supplies and she doesn’t ask.

“Go to the Astronomy Tower,” another shrug, “Professor Sinistra knows her house has a tough time going around, sometimes, so she offers all the most promising students a chance to get stuff done at night. I’ve seen enough of you, she must consider you ‘promising student material.’”

“She’s… mentioned something like that,” Draco’s eyes narrow, “But I didn’t know exactly what she was offering.” He still remembered Sinistra’s comments to him after their first class, but he hadn’t brought it up to anyone. It hadn’t seemed all that important.

“Like I said, she offers certain Slytherin students an out at night to go work in peace. You do have to do a little Astronomy extracurricular, though, to pay for it. That way, if you get caught up there, she’ll vouch for you and say you were only doing work for her,” Vivian stands and doesn’t bother to brush off her grass-stained robes. Her green eyes narrow. “She only vouches for Slytherins, though, so don’t bring any of your lion friends with you. Got it?”

“You have a problem with Gryffindor?” Draco immediately demands, hackles rising.

“No, you idiot,” Vivian scoffs and rolls her eyes. “I’m literally telling you that if you bring them they won’t have Professor Sinistra’s protection.”

The blonde boy deflates and has the decency to look sheepish, glancing away. He was so used to having to defend his friends from Theodore and Millicent that he was naturally snappish to anyone who brought them up out of nowhere. “Oh.”

Vivian waves him off and they begin walking back to the castle. “It’s also a big, Slytherin secret. Only certain Slytherins, Professor Sinistra, and I guess Professor Dumbledore knows about it, so don’t go spillin’,” she jabs a finger in Draco’s face and he scowls at her, smacking it away. “The tower’s charmed, too, that’s a big secret. The top, where classes are held, is charmed with silencing spells since… well, you don’t want a class waking up everyone else that might still be asleep. Stairs up aren’t though.”

This was all very good information to have. Draco glances up towards the castle and his eyes catch on the Astronomy Tower. Having a quiet place to go and do what he needed would be incredibly helpful, and he always had been more of a night owl. The library was nice, but to have an even more private space felt like a godsend to Draco.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he finally says, offering Vivian a thankful smile, and they walk the rest of the way up to the castle in silence.

.oOo.

Draco doesn’t actually get a chance to try night flying until a few days later. He tells Harry about it, because he thinks it would be unfair for him to keep it from his one Slytherin friend, and the boy makes him promise to wait until he has his Nimbus 2000.

The morning the broom is delivered it also comes with a letter from Sirius Black addressed to Draco. Hedwig nibbles at the piece of bacon Draco offers her as he shakily unfolds the letter.

_Dear Draco,_

_I am so happy to get the chance to speak with you. I admit, I was worried you would not want to talk to me, and who would have blamed you? I have a lot of explaining to do, I imagine, but I want you to know I would never try to abandon you. Our family is complicated and messy, but you’re young and deserve to have people looking out for you._

_After your parents died the Black family, even those disowned like me, became a very dangerous thing to associate one with. Even when they found you again, I couldn’t come in and put you at risk. Not knowingly, and I’m sorry for that, but now you are in a much more secure environment and maybe we can change that?_

_If you don’t want to talk to me I get it, Harry mentioned how nervous you were, but I’d really like to get to know you and I really hope you reply. No pressure, just know that I’m here._

_Your Cousin,_

_Sirius Black_

_And done. Did that sound too forced? I’m trying for official but friendly here, the kid needs friendly. Wait, why are you still writing? Kreacher, stop writing! Cannot even believe your_

The letter ends abruptly and when Harry glances over his shoulder at it he laughs. “Kreacher’s the Black family’s house elf. He’s a bit of a menace and always ends up messing with Sirius.” Draco doesn’t ask what a house elf is. He feels too tight in his chest after reading the letter, and he folds it up and slips it in his backpack after a moment.

He did not know what kind of danger Sirius could have been in after the death of the Malfoys, but Draco thinks it might be the most acceptable answer for him. At least, it feels honest. Adults had such a bad habit of not being honest with Draco he tended to immediately like the ones who were.

He ends up writing a slew of letters during classes, crumbling up most of them, and getting a few looks from the teachers. For the most part, however, he’s doing so well in his classes that they don’t make too much of a fuss. In Transfiguration McGonagall looks disapproving, but when Draco perfectly turns his worm into yarn and back again, she rolls her eyes and leaves him be.

In the end he rushes out to the Owlery after his final class with a letter that reads:

_Dear Sirius,_

_I don’t know what I should say here, but I do want to talk. Can you tell me about yourself?_

_Your Cousin,_

_Draco_

He spends the rest of the evening in the library with Hermione, who is thankfully talking to him again, but his heart isn’t in the research. He’s managed to turn his Wand-Lighting charms all the colors Professor Flitwick listed for him by then, but holding them for very long was less successful. He tries to sort out where he is falling short but can hardly scrounge up the inspiration.

In the end he is looking forward to his and Harry’s night flight. He needs the distraction.

Harry finds him in the common room later while Draco is trying to get a good look out into the lake. He hadn’t seen the humanoid shape again, but they must be out there. He’d practiced and memorized the whole BSL alphabet and a few greetings, meaning talking to Vincent became that bit easier, but now he desperately wanted to talk to these supposed merpeople.

“I get you’re all excited and interested,” Harry snickers, sitting on a couch nearby, “but merpeople are very private and don’t much care for our kind.”

“Humans or wizards?” Draco asks absently, still looking into the water. A few fish swim by, but nothing bigger.

“Both?” Harry shrugs. Sighing Draco finally turns and joins him, sitting on the couch and resting his face in his hands, decidedly NOT pouting. Harry has the nerve to laugh at him, nudging his shoulder, and Draco nudges him back a bit more violently.

“It’s just…” Draco starts, trailing off, then glances back at the windows. “We have such a great opportunity here, I don’t want to waste it.”

“Opportunity for what?” Pansy, of all people, asks as she comes and sits in an armchair. Draco and Harry both send her unhappy glares, not wanting to talk to the gossip-hungry girl.

“Draco wants to make friendly with the merpeople in the lake,” snickers Millicent where she sits at one of the tables, writing out some essay. She smirks viciously over at the boys and Draco rolls his eyes.

“Who wouldn’t? Just because you all have been desensitized…” he trails off, letting his meaning go unsaid but understood.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Harry smiles, trying to be reassuring, despite how much his eyes were laughing at Draco’s indignation. “You just have to spot one again.”

“Maybe they don’t like you,” Pansy offers unhelpfully, licking at a sugar quill she got from somewhere. Draco can’t help but wonder if it were even hers to begin with.

“They could be skittish,” Daphne says, voice soft as she walks by the fireplace, a romance book in her arms. She looks at Draco, then glances to the windows. “What if you left those sign language books out opened towards the windows? Maybe they’ll come by and read them when we aren’t around?”

“Hey, there’s an idea!” Harry says excitedly, not hiding at all the fact he was trying to cheer Draco up. The idea really is a good one, though, and so Harry and Draco set up a table beside one of the windows in the common room and balance all of the BSL books Draco currently has towards the underwater view. They open them up to a chart of the alphabet, a few greetings, and some basic conversational phrases.

Then Harry and Draco head into their dorm room and wait out until the night. They have to wait until Theodore and Blaise fall asleep, but then they both, quietly, pull out their brooms. Harry, knowing about their plan, had stored his Nimbus 2000 under his bed similar to how Draco had with the Turbo XX.

For a moment Draco looks to the tunnel in their ceiling for the owls, wondering if they could fit through it with their brooms, but almost immediately he shakes off the idea. It was far too small for a human and his broom.

They slip out of the common room much as they had the night they went to the third floor corridor, brooms in hand and Draco’s backpack slung over his shoulders. Part of Draco wonders if they should really be doing this. Despite being located in the dungeons the Slytherins are the closest to the entrance to the Astronomy Tower, but there is still plenty of opportunity for them to get found out.

“It’s kind of invigorating, don’t you think?” Harry whispers close to Draco’s ear and the blonde shoots a very displeased glare at him.

“Danger junkie,” Draco mumbles, rolling his eyes, and Harry grins at him as they duck behind a corner, hearing distant footsteps.

Thankfully they manage to slip into the Astronomy Tower’s staircase without much incident, hiding and weaving out of Filch’s path, and when they make it to the top of the tower they release relieved breaths. Draco wondered if the stress was worth it, but then he straightens.

The sky is clear tonight, the sky a wash of black and dark navy, like a smear of acrylic paint, and coated with brilliant pinpricks of light. It almost feels like Draco is looking up at a gigantic beast with billions of glowing eyes staring back at him.

They had seen the stars plenty during their Astronomy classes, but now, with no one else around, the silence makes the sight all that more breathtaking. “Wow,” Harry gasps, also looking to the sky, and Draco can only nod in agreement.

For a while they simply stand there, side by side, staring up at the stars as they twinkle, but finally Draco forces himself to look away and break the moment. “We should go ahead and do some of that Astronomy work,” he says, voice no higher than a whisper. He knows the silencing charms will keep them safe so long as they are on the top floor, but he doesn’t want to disturb the night too much.

They sit on the ground and Draco pulls out their supplies from his backpack. They both write a short page on the constellations that are visible that night as well as their histories, sharing a telescope between the two, and when they finish not long later, they set the backpack to the side and finally, finally, mount their brooms.

Draco wonders, as he floats through the air above the castle, if this is what Professor Sinistra does when she goes out flying. He thinks he could get used to it. The air is only a little cooler at night, but it feels like he’s flying through an entirely different sky. It puts him more at peace than he expected, the stresses of classes and Sirius and the merpeople washing off him.

His leisurely musings are disrupted, however, when Harry shoots past him, laughing under his breath and grinning back at him and, wow, okay, he was very fast. Draco watches as Harry swerves and tumbles and rolls on his Nimbus 2000, more at ease than Draco had ever seen him. His energy spurs the blonde on and soon both boys are flying over the rooftops of the castle. 

They swerve and weave through the spires and towers, Harry far superior but not boasting about it. It isn’t a race, Draco would lose miserably if it was, and is instead just a very invigorating, much needed fly around.

Draco isn’t sure how long they are up in the air, but when they land the sky is beginning to lighten and the stars are vanishing. They still have time to get some sleep in, especially if they skip breakfast, but they both share the sentiment that they may have overdone it. Still, Draco is grateful and happier than he has been in a while.

They sneak back to the dungeons, sweaty but pleased, and hardly say a word as they slip into their dorm room, change, and collapse into their beds. It isn’t for long, but Draco thinks he hasn’t slept so well before in his life.

.oOo.

Quidditch practices start up the following week and Draco thinks it is the best and worst thing to happen to him, ever. On the one hand he absolutely adores being in the air, flying around and doing tricks and feeling free. He’s _good_ , too, he knows he is. He has to learn to work with his teammates, but that’s what practice is for.

Unfortunately, his teammates are complete jerks. They ignore Harry unless they absolutely have to communicate with him, and they don’t hide their distaste for Draco’s “flippant” friend choices.

It is while he is ranting over how unfair the Slytherin jocks are that Draco begins to truly bond with Ron Weasley. Dinners after practice are usually spent at the Gryffindor table, as far away from their teammates as they can get, and Draco holds nothing back as he vents. Ron, and a lot of the Gryffindors, think his word choices are particularly funny and often times will join in with their own stories about the Slytherin team.

“Higgs is a menace,” Draco growls as he jabs his fork into his lambchop, “He won’t leave Harry alone because he, and I quote, ‘Stole my rightful spot as Seeker, the half-breed cretin.’ Who says cretin anymore? I mean, really!”

“Higgs is the one that always has his lips sticking out, right?” Ron questions, his mouth half fool of chicken, and Harry snorts.

“Yeah, he looks like a goldfish, or something,” Draco scowls, shaking his head, “Shares the brain power of one, too.”

“Slytherin gives jocks a bad name!” says Seamus, grinning and laughing.

“Can that be our new reputation?” Harry questions, faking innocence, “It’s way more entertaining.”

“Oh, you want to be in Slytherin, little first year? You better watch out, their known for being complete,” Seamus starts then pretends to look around, putting on a show, then leans in and stage whispers, “Jocks!” The boys all gasp dramatically and Hermione, at Draco’s side, rolls her eyes but smiles.

“Little Billy got into Slytherin?” Dean cuts in, voice pitched high, “Oh no! But he was meant to be a theater kid!” A few of the pureblood kids at the table don’t quite get that joke, but they laugh along anyway when everyone else does.

“You’re still having fun, though, right?” Ron asks after the laughter dies down, looking more at Harry, but glancing at Draco a few times as well. Both boys nod and Harry offers a reassuring smile.

“Oh yeah, they could never ruin flying for me,” Harry says, patting his friend’s shoulder.

“They’re jerks, but it’s worth it so far,” Draco agrees. “Did you know that our Keeper, Bletchley, uses the word malarkey constantly? Like, unironically, too.”

“Why is that so bad?” Hermione asks, looking up and furrowing her brows.

“Hermione…” Draco sighs, shaking his head, and he looks to her like he feels bad for her. “Let me tell you HOW he uses it. I nearly fell off my broom once, right? Well, he yelled, not kidding here, ‘Why do you have to malarkey everything up all the time, Malfoy?’”

“But… but it’s not… a verb…” Hermione splutters, looking suddenly very stunned and personally offended.

“What are you talking about?” one of the twins, Draco thinks it’s George from an earlier conversation, leans into the talk. “We malarkey all the time!”

“We’re malarkeying right now!” Fred adds.

“Malarkeying is my favorite pastime!” Lee calls, his bouncy dreads falling in his face when he leans over the table.

Hermione groans and Draco laughs.

“Harry,” Ron says, and Draco turns to their conversation, not wanting to listen to Hermione begin to lecture the twins. “Did you know the Muggles have a sport with only one ball?”

Harry looks suddenly very shocked and Dean, loudly, calls, “It is called futbol and it is perfectly acceptable! Lay off!”

“Does it really only have one ball?” Harry questions, looking far more scandalized than is really necessary, and Draco snorts.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” he cuts in, “Muggles can’t charm balls to do different things, so they use people instead. Instead of Bludgers, we have defenders. Instead of a race to catch the snitch, it’s a race against the clock.”

“Thank you!” Dean exclaims, throwing his arms skyward, and Seamus begins to cackle beside him. “Do you play? What team are you for? I’m all for West Ham.”

“I don’t play, but I can juggle a ball alright,” Draco shrugs. Until now he had hardly been a sporty guy himself. He wasn’t strong or fast, so most all Muggle sports were out of the question for him. “I don’t follow the League as much as my foster dad, but, by association to him, our household tends to lean more towards Man United.”

“Good thing I’m not a Liverpool fan, then,” Dean laughs, grinning, and Draco snorts.

“Good thing, yeah.”

“Do you know what they’re talking about?” Ron stage whispers to Harry, but the boy simply shrugs, looking just as lost, and Draco tries not to laugh too hard at them.

That night they have Astronomy and it really drives home just how different it is to stand at the top of the Astronomy Tower surrounded by other students than by yourself.

Class goes by smoothly, Professor Sinistra asking her usual myriad of questions at the beginning of class, awarding any right answer with five house points, and then they begin talking about the brightest stars in the sky and how to locate them. When class ends, however, Sinistra stops Draco and Harry, staring down at them blankly.

“Your extra work,” she says, holding out a hand, and both boys stare at her in confusion. “That you did last week before you went flying?” she specifies, and Draco’s eyes widen.

“You knew when we came up here?” Harry whispers, just as shocked.

“I allow my students a reprieve they dearly need from other inter-house prejudice, but not for nothing. I am aware any time someone passes through my wards,” Sinistra explains, hand still outstretched, “The flying part was a logical guess.”

Draco pinks a little and Harry clears his throat. Was it so obvious how much they loved flying?

“This is a privilege,” Sinistra continues, “few are offered. Thus, you will be required to do extra work and turn it in to me the following class. If you do not points will be taken and you will be given detention.” Draco sighs and nods. He’d been wondering how Sinistra would enforce her extracurricular work rule, but now he was getting his answer.

They both dig out the pages they wrote that night and hand them over.

“Do we get extra credit for these?” Harry manages to ask, looking hopeful, and Sinistra blinks very slowly.

“Yes,” she begins and both boys begin to brighten, “I turn my eye away from your late-night wanderings.” They quickly deflate, looking sheepish as Sinistra stares at them, then turns away and walks out.

They limit how often they go out on their night flights after that, not wanting to get too bogged down with extra Astronomy work, but that doesn’t mean they don’t take advantage of the quiet every now and again. Most of the time they fly, but sometimes they just sit and enjoy the moment or study for another class or talk about their lives outside of Hogwarts. Usually they are alone, as well, but very, very rarely another Slytherin will pop up, but they usually all keep their distances.

Except for Vivian, anyway. She’ll chat with them and they’ll help each other with the Astronomy work before she tries to convince one of the boys to test out a new invention of hers. After a near catastrophic crash on Harry’s part they tended to decline her requests.

Draco often uses his time in the Tower to work on his spells as well. He was focusing specifically on modifying the Wand-Lighting charm and was successful in casting both _Lumos Maxima_ and _Lumos Duo_ , but still struggled with the color changing modifications. Harry, eventually, joins in on the spell practice. His magic is decidedly more, naturally powerful than Draco’s, but he struggles just as much with the theory and mental imaging as Draco does.

It becomes a norm for them, and Draco always feels so much more at ease after their late-night visits. They never stay out as late as they did the first time and, so long as they don’t try to go out on too many school nights, they don’t get exhausted.

Then, one night, everything changes.

It is just a random, cool night in the middle of October when they decide to go up and practice some maneuvers and pass a ball around. Vivian pops up as well and offers to write all of their Astronomy work if they test out her new device: The Snaffler. It was a ball the size of a Bludger, but that could act as any of the three Quidditch game balls depending on which spell one used on it.

Deciding it sounded like one of her less dangerous inventions the boys had agreed.

They flew around and passed the ball back and forth for a while, focusing on Draco’s Chaser training, while Vivian watched from the Tower. Her broom was in the shed, but it worked out fine like this. She was obnoxious enough while grounded; he didn’t think he could handle her airborne.

After a while they bring the ball back to her and she taps it with her wand, mumbling, “ _Actum Snitch_ ,” and the ball glows gold, lifts up, then flies away. Harry is immediately after it, grinning so broad Draco can see it from afar. 

“That boy is built for the air,” Vivian comments, Draco still floating by the Tower’s railing, and he hums in agreement.

When Harry manages to catch the Snitch-Acting ball he returns and tells Vivian that it was much slower than a normal snitch. She makes note of that and then hands them both bats, grinning. “ _Actum Bludger_ ,” she says before they can respond, and Draco dodges out of the way when the ball propels itself at his head.

“Neither of us are Beaters, you do know!” Draco calls, scowling, but Harry is laughing and flying back out, swinging at the Bludger-Acting ball. Draco, sighing desperately, flies out as well.

The Snaffler test is a success, thankfully, and Harry only sustains small bruising against his shoulder when the Bludger-Acting ball had smacked him. A healing potion from Vivian’s bottomless bag fixes that up in a jiffy, though, and then the two boys are taking a normal Quaffle and going back out, into the air, to practice even more.

When Draco is diving to catch a low throw from Harry, however, his broom very suddenly _jerks_ , Quaffle tumbling away from him, and he has to grab hold of the handle so he doesn’t get thrown off.

Draco’s brows furrow, confused, and he looks towards Harry to ask what that could have been, catching a glimpse of the other boy’s worried gaze, when he’s abruptly flung sideways. His grip tightens even further, legs squeezing against the broom, knuckles white, and his stomach drops. For the first time he realizes just how high up he is. If he falls he would be a goner.

Another jerk has him yelping aloud and pressing his body tight to his broom. What was going on? What was happening? WHY was this happening? He can see Harry out of the corner of his eye rushing over, hand outstretched, but the moment he gets close Draco’s broom is flinging itself farther away. He tries desperately to hold on and take control again, but the broom keeps jerking and swinging and bucking like an electronic bull.

“Draco!” Harry exclaims, now circling him as he tries to see a way closer. “What is--”

“I don’t know!” Draco cries, panic lacing his words, his eyes flicking around in a hope he sees something he can grab onto, but then the broom begins to rise. Higher and higher, completely out of Draco’s control, and he would cry if he wasn’t freaking out so much.

“Just… Just hold on!” Harry calls, flying beneath him.

“Oh, THANKS!” Draco snaps, panic turning to anger in a last bid to keep himself sane, “I hadn’t thought of tha-- AAH!” The broom suddenly lurches straight downward and for a split, horrifying second Draco is free falling, hands scrambling for purchase, and he only just manages to grab ahold of the broom handle before it can get away. He clings for his dear life and, for a second, the broom is still.

Then it begins falling again and this time it doesn’t stop. Draco would scream but his voice gets caught in his throat as he sees the ground getting closer and closer, coming up to meet him and end his life with a splat. He doesn’t understand how this could have happened. He doesn’t understand what he could have done wrong. He hysterically begins pulling at the broom handle in a last-ditch effort to pull up, but it won’t work and he’s actually going to die. He’s going to hit the ground and die here and he doesn’t know why.

A bright flash above him only just registers in his brain followed by a cold burn in his chest and, suddenly, his broom is righting itself just before he hits the ground.

He’s too shocked to even move, frozen as he hovers a mere yard away from the earth, the ache in his chest receding. He was… alive?

“Draco!” Harry calls, frantic and wild as he flies to Draco’s side. His wand is out and a Lumos light is slowly diminishing. “Draco, are you--” He stops himself and looks to the side. They’re floating in a courtyard and there are halls just beside them. Filch or Mrs. Norris could catch them at any second. Harry curses then grabs ahold of the end of Draco’s broom, leading him back into the sky and towards the Astronomy Tower. “We need to move.”

“What…?” Draco squeaks and he’s begun to shake, the shock of what just happened settling in. They get back to the Tower and he slides to the floor like a ragdoll, broom forgotten as he tries to keep his breathing under control. A groan to his side has him glancing up and he sees Vivian on the ground, stunned, but stirring from an apparent attack.

“Did… did she…?” he asks weakly. Had what just happened to him been foul play? Had Vivian done it and Harry stopped her? But the older girl hardly seemed the type to attack anyone unprovoked. Or try to kill someone at all, for that matter.

“No! No, someone attacked her when we weren’t looking,” Harry quickly says, setting both his Nimbus 2000 and Draco’s Turbo XX to the side before he crouches beside the shaking blonde and sets an arm around his shoulders.

“Motherfu… who di’ tha’…?” Vivian slurs, green eyes blurry as she begins to look around. Draco looks to Harry instead of her. He must look horribly lost because Harry pulls their sides together with his arm.

“You started falling and… I saw a figure standing over Vivian’s body. They must have been jinxing your broom, and that would need direct eye contact so I just… reacted,” Harry says and Draco begins to notice the shake in his own voice. Maybe the arm around his shoulder isn’t just for his own benefit…

“Lumos?” he asks, remembering the bright light just seconds before he had taken control of his broom again.

“Lumos Maxima, yeah,” Harry nods. Vivian has begun to sit up fully, clutching her head. “It blinded them, but then they ran away before I could get a good look at who it was.”

Vivian groans. “I didn’t see who they were either… Just a shadow and then BLOW! Stunned,” the redhead shakes her head, crossing her legs and breathing deeply. “Didn’t even see them raise a wand or nothin’!”

“They didn’t use a wand?” Draco questions, startled, but Vivian only shrugs, uncertain. Draco falls silent himself, ducking his head and staring at the cobblestone of the floor. He’s still shaking, but his breathing has evened out.

Someone just tried to end his life. Someone who must have known he was up here, flying around. Someone who might not use a wand. Someone… Draco glances towards the brooms abandoned to the side. Someone who might know how to jinx a Turbo XX specifically.

“Draco? What is it?” Harry whispers, hand squeezing on Draco’s shoulder.

“I…” Draco falters, voice high as he processed what this could all mean. “I think it could have been Sinistra.”

“ _What?!_ ” Vivian immediately shrieks, whatever discomfort she was in forgotten as she looks to Draco like he’s lost it. “That’s insane! She’s the one that let’s… us… up here…” Her eyes widen, horror painting her features, and she looks between Harry and Draco a few times before staring at the ground. “Oh Merlin…”

“But… What? Why?” Harry hisses, looking back at the door to the stairwell like he suspects Sinistra to appear right then.

“She’s the only one that knows about these meet ups, and she would be familiar with her own Turbo XX, making jinxing it easier, I’d assume,” Draco would admit, he wasn’t so familiar with jinxes or hexes save for the basics, but it made logical sense. He simply needed to start researching this to get a better picture. Until then, though, he only had his theories. “Plus, she’s the only witch or wizard I know of that can use magic without a wand.”

“It makes morbid sense,” Vivian agrees quietly.

“Why would she want to kill you, though?” Harry demands, sounding more worried than he ever had before.

“I didn’t mention this before…” Draco mumbles, barely over a whisper, and he looks away. “But during the Welcoming Feast I made eye contact with Sinistra and…” Draco reaches up to grip his shirt, right over his scar. “Suddenly my scar started to hurt like it never had before. Then, just a moment ago, after you ran them off, my scar started to hurt again.”

Silence settles over the three, cold realization freezing them in their spots. “So…” Harry breathes, voice weak and high, “what now? Do we just… go back to our dorms? What if she’s waiting for us?”

“No, no way, you can’t go back right now,” Vivian says sharply with a shake of her head. She scrambles, unsteady on her feet, to her bag and begins digging around in it. “She knows you’re out and might be waiting. No, definitely not tonight.”

“What do you propose, then?” Draco demands, bitterness coloring his words, but his expression is far too open to match the tone.

“She wasn’t after me, right? She only stunned me,” Vivian is saying and finally she pulls her hand from her bag, something gripped tightly in her fist. “I can go down and see if the coast is clear. You two should find a place to hide until I message you on this.” She hands over whatever she’s holding to Harry, and when Draco leans over to look at it he sees a chunky, black walkie-talkie. “These things are garbage if you wanna have a conversation,” Vivian sighs, “But I can get a word or two to you. If I say the word bad, don’t come down. If I say good, you’re in the clear.”

“What is this?” Harry mumbles and Draco takes the walkie-talkie from him.

“I’ll explain it later,” Draco says briskly then narrows his eyes at the red-haired girl. “Where, exactly, do you propose we hide, then?”

“Dunno. We’re all Slytherins, though. Resourceful! Can’t you come up with something?”

Draco looks away, chewing the inside of his mouth. His first thought is Hagrid’s hut, but Draco isn’t so sure if the Groundskeeper would turn them in or not. He liked Hagrid quite a bit, but he didn’t know him like Harry did. The only people he trusted here were Harry and Hermione…

Hermione…

Draco’s eyes widen as he remembers a comment the bushy-haired girl had made in passing some days ago. He looks to Harry, energy coursing through him at his idea. “I know a place. If it doesn’t work, though… we’ll go to Hagrid’s hut. Grab your broom.”

There’s a scramble as Vivian hurries out, her own walkie-talkie in hand, and Draco and Harry gather up their things. For a split second after the two boys kick back into the air Draco feels a sinking feeling in his gut, but then Harry flies in close to his side, their knees bumping, and he manages to calm himself.

“Where are we going?” Harry whispers, eyes glued on Draco.

“A while back Hermione was telling me how stuffy the Gryffindor common room can get,” he says urgently, eyes darting back and forth for any shadowy figures, “but once they open a window it feels fine.” Harry’s eyes widen in realization. It was their best bet. The den of lions would protect them, they knew it, they just had to hope they could get to them.

The windows around Gryffindor Tower are shut when they fly up and the first two Draco checks are locked tight. The third, to their great luck, opens without a problem and they both immediately tumble in, scrambling to keep from making a ruckus. Harry quickly shuts the window behind them, and they sit heavily on the floor, breathing deeply.

The Gryffindor common room is circular and warm, both in temperature and in color. Red and gold decorations hang everywhere with squishy-looking chairs and couches. The fire blazes in the hearth, despite the hour, and rugs cover a dark, wood floor. Draco will admit likes it, it’s charming, though he definitely prefers the cool, metaphorical blanket that is Slytherin’s living quarters.

“Hello?” Both boys jerk up, looking to each other before scrambling to hide behind a large armchair. Apparently, they hadn’t been as quiet as they had hoped. It didn’t help they hardly had a plan beyond “Get somewhere safe immediately.” They didn’t need to get caught and sent down to the dungeons when that was exactly where they needed to keep away.

Soft footsteps enter the common room and Draco and Harry lower themselves to the floor to look under the chair. They see fluffy, pink slippers and the bottom of a matching bathrobe. They’ve stopped by one of the couches in the middle of the room and appear to be looking around before calling, quietly, “Draco?”

Draco blanches and Harry looks to him in surprise. How had…? Both boys look towards the window they’d fallen through and spot their discarded brooms.

Oops…

Slowly they both lean out from behind the armchair and none other than Hermione Granger is waiting for them. The girl looks shocked to see them, before her brows lower and she takes on a furious expression. “Draco Malfoy, _what_ are you doing here?” she hisses lowly, not wanting to wake her whole house.

The blonde’s mouth falls open and he throws his arm out to point at Harry. “Why aren’t you getting on to him, too?” he hisses back, just as quietly, then glares at Harry when he clears his throat. “What are you even doing up, anyway?” Draco turns back to Hermione, who puffs up with indignation.

“Excuse you, I was studying, which I am perfectly allowed to do. Unlike this little… stunt!” she waves her hands at the two boys, who are still standing behind the armchair like some kind of barrier.

“Hermione, he was nearly killed,” Harry cuts in before Draco can retort and all the fight drains out of the young witch, along with all her color.

“What?” she squeaks, big eyes swinging between the two boys, and finally they inch out from their hiding spot. They sit down in front of the fire and tell her everything that just happened and how they were now waiting for a message from Vivian.

“I think it could have been Professor Sinistra,” Draco whispers, ducking his head and Hermione looks even more shocked.

“Our Astronomy teacher? _Your_ Head of House?! But she’s never shown any distaste towards you…”

“She’s never shown any distaste towards anything,” Harry mumbles.

“It… it feels like we’re missing something,” Draco admits and all his energy finally seems to be sapped from his body as he slouches back in the couch. It is a very comfy couch. “It’s the only viable idea we have right now, though.”

“This… this is unbelievable,” Hermione falls back into the armchair she had been perched on, eyes staring at the rug in front of her in disbelief.

“It still happened,” Harry sighs, running a hand through his messy hair and ruffling it. “We’re sorry for turning up like this. We must be breaking so many rules…”

“You are,” Hermione scowls, but doesn’t begin to lecture them on those rules, which probably means she’s in shock. At least, Draco can’t think of any other reason she would suddenly stop talking about rules and house points. “But your safety is far more important.” Oh… well, there could be that.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Draco smiles, trying to show just how grateful he was to her, right as the walkie-talkie crackles to life. All three startle and Draco nearly drops the device as he pulls it out. They listen as Vivian’s disjointed voice filters over the connection. She hadn’t been wrong when she said the thing was garbage…

“Bad… …ad …inistra… walkin… bad…”

Draco takes a deep breath and looks up at Hermione and Harry. “I think she’s saying Sinistra is moving around down there,” he whispers and he sees Harry pale. He raises the walkie-talkie to his mouth, pressing the large button on the side, and says, “Copy.”

They wait a few beats and then it crackles again. “Copy… …ood nigh…”

“I think that was ‘good night,’” Harry guesses, still looking rather pale. Draco nods, then looks at Hermione pleadingly. Before he can ask if there is any way they can stay the night someone else speaks up from behind them.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?”

“Ron!” Harry yelps in shock and relief, standing up and hurrying over to his friend. He must have been awoken by the walkie-talkie sound, Draco thinks, since they’d kept pretty quiet otherwise. Not just him either, Draco notes, looking back and seeing Dean and Seamus peeking out from around an archway in the wall.

“What are you guys doing here?” Ron attempts to whisper, but he’s much less subtle than the rest of them. Harry tries to hush him, but he isn’t listening. “ _How_ are you guys here?”

“We used the window,” Harry hisses, eyes frantic as they dart towards the unmistakable sound of footsteps. These are heavier than any of theirs, so probably an older student, which can’t be good for them.

“Is someone awake out there? You should be getting rest!” calls the unmistakable voice of Percy Weasley, the prefect, and Draco is springing off of the couch in a second.

He snatches Hermione’s arm, yanking her up with him, and begins hustling as quietly as he can towards the archway the boys had come from. “To your dorm room! Quickly, hurry!” he snaps then points at the brooms on the floor. “Harry, grab those! Let’s go!” It is a mad, hushed scramble as they all rush back up towards the first year boy’s dorm room. It takes every fiber of control for Draco not to slam the door behind them.

Once out of danger both he and Harry sink down the door and to the floor, Draco’s backpack scrunching upwards and over his head and Harry hugging both brooms to his chest.

This was all way too much.

“EEK!” Neville exclaims from his bed and Draco looks up. The Gryffindor dorm rooms are shaped similar to the Slytherin ones, but their windows look out to the sky and the horizon beyond and everything is decorated in reds and golds. “Hermione, this is the boy’s room!” Neville continues, grabbing the curtains around his bed and yanking them closed. Draco wonders why he seems so scandalized. He was wearing pajamas, it looked like.

“Oh honestly, Neville,” Hermione huffs, flicking her head and standing beside Draco. “I’ll be gone in a moment. Hello Gregory. Hello Vincent,” she looks and nods to the two, large boys. Their beds are beside each other and just to the right of Neville’s. It seems all of the Gryffindor boys were awake, probably from the walkie-talkie, and that makes Draco flush in embarrassment. So much for stealth…

“Hi Hermione,” Greg says, smiling, and Vincent signs a hello. They aren’t as put off by the girl’s presence.

“Okay, yes, hello everyone,” Ron waves his hands dramatically to cut off any further pleasantries. “Can someone please tell me what is going on, now?”

With a heavy, exhausted sigh Draco begins to recount the nights events, again, with Harry and Hermione offering their help.

“You were nearly killed?!” Neville squeaks, head popping out from between his curtains.

“Yep,” Draco shrugs, eyes drooping.

“And it isn’t safe for us to go back to our dorms right now,” Harry adds, looking just as tired and crestfallen as Draco feels.

“Well, you’ll be staying here, obviously,” Dean says, his arms crossed, looking more serious than Draco expected him to. Seamus, on the other hand, has returned to his bed and buried himself in his blankets.

“You guys really don’t mind?” Draco asks, looking around the room. It was nice of Dean to offer, but he needed to make sure everyone was in agreement. One loose thread could get them all in deep trouble.

“Of course not!” Ron exclaims, looking affronted that Draco would even doubt them, and one of Seamus’s hands pops up from his blankets to give a thumbs up before falling back down.

“We don’t want you getting hurt,” Greg says quietly and Vincent nods in agreement.

“Just make Hermione leave,” Neville squeaks, still hiding. “This is so inappropriate…” Draco hears him mumble, “Mum’ll kill me…”

“We aren’t going to tell your mom, Neville,” Ron rolls his eyes, then looks down at Draco and Harry. “We aren’t going to tell anyone.” Then, with a snap, the ginger turns his blue gaze on Hermione, eyes narrowing. “Right?”

The girl huffs, offended and unhappy by Ron’s treatment, and Draco reaches out to pat her shin reassuringly. It doesn’t help much. “Of course I’m not! This is a dire situation,” she snaps, nose held high. “And even if it weren’t… telling someone would only succeed in us losing countless house points.”

“Of course you fall back to house points,” Ron scowls and before they can begin to argue Dean is pushing between them.

“How about we set up a place for you guys to sleep? And some spare pajamas,” he says, smile tight, and Draco nods his thanks. Hermione huffs again, but bids them all good night before slipping out and heading back to her own dorm. She does pause to give Draco and Harry a concerned once over, however, and that at least makes the blonde boy feel a bit more at ease.

Draco has to nudge Harry, who had begun to nod off, and then they begin getting ready for sleep. Since Vincent and Greg grew up under the same roof and are probably the most comfortable with each other they offer to share a bed so Harry and Draco can take Vincent’s. They gratefully accept.

Draco, though not being a particularly touchy-feely guy, is also mildly familiar with bed-sharing with foster siblings, though usually it was because one of them had a nightmare. Still, he isn’t too put off by the presence of another person behind him, but Harry squrims around for a while in search of a comfortable position. He stops when Draco smacks him with a pillow and glares bloody murder.

They lie back to back, a blanket rolled up between them, and, thankfully, the exhaustion finally starts to kick in. They fall asleep like that, surrounded by red and gold, protected from any attacker by their den of lions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: [Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Ninja Sex Party](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b7CUOa7wsd0)
> 
> Edit: AAAH! I'm an idiot! I screwed up the order of the Quidditch games and Halloween! Forgot that the Quidditch games started in November. Sorry guys! Fixed that up...


	11. He Did The Mash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! If you didn't notice in the last chapter I made a small mistake and said that the Quidditch game was the following day after the incident, but I forgot the Quidditch game was after Halloween. I fixed that up and now we are on to Spoopy Day!

Draco and Harry get up far earlier than they would ever have liked, but they have to if they want to sneak out of the tower without being spotted. They slip out the window in the dorm room and fly quickly back to the Astronomy Tower. When they slip through the corridors, the sounds of morning bird song disappearing as they trek deeper and deeper into the dungeons, they find their common room not as deserted as they would have hoped.

Thankfully, though, it only turns out to be Vivian. She had slept on the couches, playing lookout, and waiting for their eventual return. She gives them a brief rundown of what happened last night and how she’d seen Sinistra walking around the halls like she was searching for something.

“Here,” Vivian stops them before they can drag themselves to their room and get changed. She’s holding out what looks like a thick, silver bangle, but it would be far too thin for Draco’s wrist. She still waves it at him until he takes it. “Stick it on your broom handle. It should help repel jinxes thrown at it for a time.”

“You made this overnight?” Draco arches his brows, mildly impressed.

Vivian shrugs. “Slytherin ain’t so bad, but this is still where the jerks go that hate Muggleborns. I’ve had to develop plenty of anti-hex and anti-jinx spells and contraptions. That,” she points to the bangle, “is just modified for a broom. Hardly perfect… if Sinistra becomes aware of it, it won’t be as potent…”

“It’s better than nothing,” Harry sighs and Draco finally slides the bangle onto his broom handle, right above where he puts his hands. “Practice and games shouldn’t be as worrying now.”

Draco scowls at the thought of Quidditch. He loved flying, but the concept of being out in the open where anyone could get to him was a concerning one… Then again, maybe since it was so public he would be a bit safer?

“Hey,” Harry’s hand finds its way to Draco’s shoulder and they lock eyes. “We’re going to be okay. We’ve got the bangle, we’ve got witnesses, and we’ve got the entire first year of Gryffindors on our side.”

“Plus me!” Vivian cuts in, poking her head into Draco’s view and grinning. “If Professor Sinistra tries any funny business I’ll throw down, no questions asked!”

Draco cringes and Harry immediately begins to cackle under his breath. “As touching as your offer may be,” Draco begins slowly, “Please don’t attack a teacher for me.”

“No promises,” Vivian shrugs then winks at the two before she disappears to the third year, girl’s dorm. It leaves Harry and Draco to slip into their own dorm room and change out of their day-old clothes. Blaise, who is always awake first, gives them both a thoughtful stare as they enter before shrugging and going about his business.

“ _Where have you two been_?” Muddy hisses from Draco’s pillow, her head popping up as she watches him move around.

“ _Long story. Tell you later_ ,” he sighs and then they’re heading off for breakfast. Draco would love nothing more than to collapse in his bed and get a few more hours of sleep, but they need to present a strong front today. They cannot seem fazed by the attack no matter how upset they actually are.

They make a point of sitting at the Slytherin table, avoiding the Gryffindors in case anyone might get suspicious, but Draco thinks they’re mostly doing it out of paranoia. There’s no way anyone could have figured out where they had stayed the night, but it is still better to be safe than sorry.

They manage to distract themselves with meaningless jabber, mostly about classes, and Draco can feel some of his nerves begin to slosh off of him as time goes by. They finish eating early and have every intention of sitting and talking until it is time for classes, but then, seemingly out of nowhere, Sinistra appears at their backs.

“Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy,” she says coolly and both boys jump, swiveling around in their seats and staring up at their teacher with wide, panicked eyes. Immediately Draco feels his nerves return, crushing his insides and making it hard to find his voice. “Join me in my office,” Sinistra orders and then turns away.

Harry and Draco exchange a dreaded look before forcing themselves up. Draco catches sight of the Gryffindor table as they leave, noting all of the first year boys and Hermione are watching them worriedly.

“Maybe we can run,” Harry hisses as they march to what could very well be their doom. “Flee the country. Attend Beauxbaton, maybe.”

“Can you speak French?” Draco replies weakly, unsure what else to say.

Harry hesitates, then tries, “We can attend Ivermorny…”

“I doubt she’d pull anything in broad daylight,” Draco eventually attempts to reason with the panic that hangs over them both. “I’m not sure what she wants to talk about… but there are students walking all over the place. She’d never get away with it.”

Harry makes a pained noise, but otherwise doesn’t answer. Sinistra’s office is just ahead and the door is already open. When they pause at the doorway, waiting to be invited in, they see that they’re not the only ones that were called in. Vivian stands just within, her arms crossed, and when Sinistra nods the boys inside she looks back at them with wide eyes.

“You three were up in the Astronomy Tower last night,” Sinistra begins, cutting to the chase the second her door shuts on its own. She’s sitting behind her clean desk, her room still a mess around her. The fire in her fireplace has been charmed to a deep red this time, however. “I know any time someone passes through my wards,” she reminds them, then reaches out her hand, “I will take up your work while you are here.”

All three of them stand frozen in surprise, uncertain where this meeting might be going, but eventually Vivian moves to dig around in her bottomless bag and it urges Draco to pull his backpack off his shoulders and extract his and Harry’s extra Astronomy work. They hand everything in and Sinistra sets the papers to the side without looking at them, her blank gaze still on them.

“I am also aware when students leave through my wards,” Sinistra continues, her hands folding together on the desk, and Draco feels himself growing even more confused. “It appears only Miss. Wilcom left normally, yet here you boys are.”

What was Sinistra’s game? Of course Harry and Draco had left differently, they’d flown to Gryffindor tower, but she shouldn’t seem so surprised if she had been the one to attack them. Draco glances at Harry and, judging by the other boy’s pinched look, he was thinking along the same lines.

“We… flew to the ground and walked back to our dorms, Professor,” Draco says slowly, looking back at his Head of House, and she stares right into his very soul.

“Why?” she asks simply and Draco swallows.

“We dropped our Quaffle,” Harry suddenly cuts in, but his voice is remarkably steady. “We, uh… we were practicing and Draco missed a trick throw and it fell. When we went down to get it, though, we thought we heard Mr. Filch and we panicked.”

“They ran all the way back to the dorms and I brought all of our stuff back down,” Vivian adds, nodding and smiling, panic wiped from her face as she and Harry weave their lie.

“And you are all… okay?” Sinistra questions, head tilted in her mimicry-of-humans kind of way.

“Yes ma’am,” Draco nods, but his voice is whispery and his eyes have begun to narrow.

“Good,” Sinistra rights her head and looks back at Harry. “And were you able to find your ball?”

“Yes ma’am!” Harry smiles to their teacher, but it slowly fades when Sinistra just keeps staring at him. She doesn’t say a word as she reaches under her desk and raises up the very Quaffle they had managed to drop the night before when Draco’s broom had gone haywire. All three students stiffen and Sinistra sets the ball on her desk. She’s still staring at Harry.

“Do not be so eager to agree when telling lies, Mr. Potter. Fifteen points from Slytherin,” is all she says before, with a flick of her wrist, the ball flies into Harry’s arms and she is turning away. “You are all dismissed.”

They scramble out of Sinistra’s office the second they are allowed, shaken and terrified, and begin hurrying down the corridor to get as far away as possible.

“What the heck just happened?!” Draco hisses, eyes wide and his whole body shaking. Beside him Harry hugs the Quaffle close to his chest like a security blanket and doesn’t say a word. “Why didn’t she demand answers if she knew we were lying?!”

“Because she already knows!” Vivian hisses back, her head whipping back and forth as if to make sure no one is following them. “She tried to kill you, remember?”

“Why’d she call us to her office, then?” Draco demands, finally forcing all of them to stop in the middle of the corridor. Harry makes a noise of protest, apparently wanting to just keep running, but stops anyway.

“I dunno!” Vivian shrugs, hands flailing, “Maybe she wanted to see how much damage she’d done? Put the fear of Aurora Sinistra in our souls?”

“It doesn’t make any sense, though!” Draco protests, confused and frightened.

“What doesn’t make any sense?” calls Hermione as she, Ron, and the Weasley twins of all people come rushing towards them from the opposite direction. Draco blinks in surprise as they approach, but quickly schools his expression at the sight of Fred and George.

“Why Professor Sinistra wanted to see us. It doesn’t matter,” he says roughly, glancing at the twins, but they smile at him knowingly. Draco’s eyes thin at that and he flicks his gaze to Ron, who has the right mind to look sheepish.

“Look, I had to tell them, okay?” Ron begins, voice too quick, and Draco resists the urge to groan. Instead he grinds his teeth and glares.

“I told him not to,” Hermione huffs.

“You be quiet,” Ron snaps right back, shooting his own glare at the girl before one of the twins walks forward and lays a hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“You doing alright, Draco?” he asks as the other gives Harry a once over.

“How about you, Harry? Look a little ill, there.”

Harry mumbles something indecipherable but at least nods. He really does look ill.

“You didn’t _need_ to say anything,” Draco snaps, still glaring at Ron and ignoring the twins. “You promised you’d stay quiet!”

“Now, now, children, calm down,” the twin by Draco says placatingly, smiling like he is enjoying this more than he should.

“Ron didn’t need to tell us,” the other says, holding Harry’s shoulder, “But it was a pretty brilliant move. Don’t you think, Fred?”

“Of course, George,” hums Fred, who turns to smirk at their little brother. “Ron has to have a smart thought every now and again, doesn’t he?”

“Shut up,” Ron grumbles, pouting, and Vivian leans forward to squint suspiciously at Fred.

“I know you guys,” she begins slowly, head tilting. “We’re in the same year. We have Potions and Care for Magical Creatures together, right?”

“Yeah, that’s us,” the twins both grin in greeting. “Fred and George Weasley at your service!”

“Vivian Wilcom, inventor extraordinaire!” the red-haired girl grins back and Draco crosses his arms, glaring at the group as a whole.

“Lovely, we all know each other now. I’m still not hearing why telling your brothers was such a ‘brilliant’ idea, Ron Weasley,” he snaps and watches as the youngest redhead turns pink, raring up to argue back.

“They’re Beaters,” Harry croaks, cutting off whatever fight was building between the two boys. When Draco looks back at him he’s still pale and holding the Quaffle like a lifeline, but he seems more put together. “They’re Beaters on Gryffindor’s Quidditch team.”

“Ding ding ding!” George exclaims, grinning.

“Right you are,” Fred leans towards Harry and pats his head.

“You do play Gryffindor first,” Hermione says, speaking up for the first time since Ron snapped at her. Draco eyes Hermione and Ron suspiciously, unhappy that his friend would feel the need to remain quiet like that. “Having a few extra brooms in the air would be a big help.”

“Help my nerves, too,” Harry mumbles, dejected, and finally seems to sag after all the stress.

“I’m not sure if anything can do that, mate,” Ron jokes, smiling brightly, and Harry offers a small smile back. 

“I could make some more anti-jinx charms for everyone’s brooms, if you want,” Vivian offers, earning a few nods of agreement.

“We won’t let you go splat, Draco,” George assures, slipping over to sling an arm around Draco’s shoulders and giving him a friendly jostle. “Don’t expect us to go easy on you during the game, though. We intend to win!”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Draco smirks and George lays his hand over his heart in faux pain. “And thank you…” he gives Ron a side eye, “I suppose.”

“Yes, well, now that we have everything sorted,” Hermione cuts in with a clap of her hands and Ron rolls his eyes. “We really must be heading to our classes.”

“We still have time. Relax, Granger,” Ron snaps before he’s stepping towards Harry and away from the bushy-haired girl.

Hermione sets her hands on her hips and puffs out her cheeks in obvious distaste. Thankfully Vivian steps in before anyone can start arguing. “Speaking of classes,” she says cheerfully, looking to the twins. “How are you guys doing on your Potions essay?”

The twins fall silent, glancing at each other, and Draco can’t help but arch a brow as they wait. He knew the twins were pranksters, everyone knew that, but Ron had mentioned a few times that they were quite clever too. They simply took things less seriously than others.

“We have an essay?” both boys say in unison and Draco blanches. Apparently, a lot less seriously…

“Yeah… Due tomorrow,” Vivian says slowly, arms crossed and a wicked smirk on her face. Draco thinks he hears Harry snort and Ron groan as the twins look at each other.

“I’m going to kill Lee,” Fred mumbles.

“You boys want me to help you?” Vivian offers, still smirking, and Fred and George snap their head to look at her like she may be their guardian angel.

“Yes!” they say in unison.

“Okay. Show me one of your personal trickster gadgets I’ve heard so much about and we’ll have a deal.”

“Deal!” Vivian stretches out her hand to shake but the twins bypass that and instead each grab one of her arms. “To the library!” They then drag her, startled, away, leaving Draco, Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone in the vacant corridor.

“Oh dear…” Hermione says, eyes wide in her own surprise. She then glances at Draco. “They do realize they have classes to get to as well, don’t they?”

Draco smiles and shrugs, not saying a word, and he sees Ron facepalm just out of the corner of his eye. What interesting people he got to meet here at Hogwarts.

.oOo.

The rest of the day runs smoothly for Draco, much to his relief. He has no more run ins with Sinsitra, Theodore and Millicent mostly leave him alone, and he manages to distract himself completely with his classes. He also has no Quidditch practice that evening, which he doubted he’d be able to go to so soon after his near-fall.

In the evening he finds himself in the library with Hermione, researching jinxes. In the far corner of the library Draco could just make out three heads of red hair as Vivian makes good on her promise to help, plus the addition of Lee Jordan at one point or another. Hermione makes it no secret she is amazed the three boys are actually quiet and doing work.

“Hermione,” Draco says lowly after the tenth glare Hermione sends the other table. She’s tense, he notes, and he can’t understand why. “I get you’re a stickler for rules, but they haven’t even done anything today.”

The girl stiffens and ducks her head, staring resolutely at the book in front of her, though Draco doubts she’s reading the words anymore. When she says nothing Draco sighs.

“Hermione… Are any of the Gryffindors being cruel to you?” he asks carefully and finally his friend looks up at him with wide eyes.

“What? No! Of course not,” she quickly says, then looks away. “Hard for people to be cruel when they won’t even talk to you…”

Draco’s brows rise at her dejected tone. “What do you mean?” he questions, voice pitched even lower to make sure no one overhears.

“Let’s just say… you have been a lot more successful making friends than I have,” Hermione sighs.

“What…” Draco begins but stops himself, forcing himself to think back. He never really saw Hermione go out of her way to hang out with anyone but himself. Yes, he’d seen her with some of the other boys, but it was always because they were approaching Draco and Harry at the same time. “What about Greg and Vincent?” he tries, remembering the two, giant boys that Hermione had taken to mothering any chance she got.

“They’re very sweet,” Hermione allows, shoulders sagging, “But we don’t interact like everyone else. We’ve studied together, and I’ve helped with some of their work when they struggle--”

“Which is all the time?”

By Hermione’s pinched look Draco estimates he isn’t wrong, but that she doesn’t want to actually admit that. “But if they want to be around someone just as friends they tend to go to Neville.”

“To be fair… That boy needs all the protection he can get,” Draco mumbles and Hermione sighs. “Listen… I hate no one is talking to you,” the blonde starts, head tilted sympathetically at his friend. “You are a pretty intimidating person when people first meet you, though. They probably just need to get used to you and everything will be fine.”

“Maybe,” Hermione whispers, but shakes her head a moment later and throws on a determined expression. She pulls her book closer to herself and begins to read. “Enough of this. Back to work. I want to see what we can find on the nature of jinxes on brooms before curfew.”

“Do you not have any homework you need to do?” Draco asks, curious. He tended to finish his homework as early as possible to leave himself as much free time as he could. Hermione, though, would usually spread her homework out over multiple days.

“I finished it last night after what happened,” Hermione admits with a shrug, not looking up from her book.

“Hermione Granger…” Draco gasps dramatically, eyes comically wide, “Did you _rush_ your homework? Young lady, I am appalled!”

“Oh, hush up and read your book,” Hermione snaps, but Draco can see her cheeks have darkened just under the curtain of her hair.

“Yes, your majesty,” Draco bows awkwardly over the table and Hermione groans, but they say nothing more as they continue to research and Hermione doesn’t send anymore dirty looks to the table in the back corner.

.oOo.

The night before Halloween Draco startles awake in the middle of the night from a nightmare. He hadn’t had as many since arriving at Hogwarts, but ever since he could remember it was always the same thing. Screaming, high-pitched laughter, and a flash of green light.

He never awoke screaming, feeling instead frozen in his bed, breathing heavy and staring up at nothing. Sometimes, back home, Ada would still be awake and would climb into bed with him and just talk to him. Hermione, at one point, researched something called Sleep Paralysis, but Draco hated putting a name on this. It made it feel like he had some _problem_ he couldn’t control, and he needed that remaining sense of control when dealing with these moments, even if it was fake.

No one crawled into his bed here at Hogwarts. Considering his roommates, he thinks it would upset him more than help anyway… But Muddy is usually close by and senses when he starts awake.

Tonight, however, Draco is completely alone.

When feeling returns to his appendages Draco slides his way out of bed, ignoring the shadows on the edges of his vision that he knows aren’t there, and throws on an oversized hoodie over his pajamas. He slips out of the dorm room and takes a seat in front of the common room fire, letting the light from the blaze leave after images in his vision as he stares.

These nights are the worst, but are thankfully few and far between. Sometimes, back home, when Ada sleeps through him waking up and he slips out to the living room Mrs. Nubble will come out of her office and make him chamomile tea that is more honey than broth. Other times Mr. Nubble might hear him and come out and watch some late-night cartoons until he falls back asleep.

They aren’t here now, though, and for the first time since starting at Hogwarts Draco thinks he can finally admit to missing them.

With that thought in mind he forces himself to write out letters to all of them, keeping any tears from welling up, and contemplates whether he really wants to send them or not. He’s been sending letters back and forth with Sirius a couple of times by now, most of those being awkward and uncertain as they get a feel for one another, but he’d hardly sent his foster family anything. Sitting here now, alone, Draco feels guilty about that.

A tapping noise has Draco quickly looking up to see if someone has come in while he wasn’t looking. He scrubs furiously at his face, smearing tear tracks he hadn’t realized he’d shed, but sees no one else walking around the common room.

The tapping sounds again and Draco realizes it isn’t from the direction of any of the dorm rooms, but rather from the windows. The windows that look out into the lake. The windows where a large merman currently floats.

Draco drops the pen he had been using to write his letters, eyes wide as saucers and mouth falling open.

The merman isn’t like the ones in picture books or stories. He looks wild and dangerous with loosely braided, long green hair that floats around him like a halo of seaweed, bluish-grey skin stretches over lean muscles, and his eyes are wide and yellow. He raises his hand and taps with a webbed hand against the glass, staring at Draco with what could be concern.

The blonde nearly faceplants when he scrambles out of the couch, tripping on a rug, and scurries closer. The merman twitches back an inch or two at Draco’s sudden movements, but offers a calm, endearing smile.

Upon closer inspection Draco sees the merman’s tail is thin with an upward facing fin, like a reef shark, that shimmers silver. His hair and body are adorned in all kinds of jewelry, mostly made of bones of varying kinds, but decorated here and there with little, colorful crystals. Draco also thinks he sees a flash of fangs when he smiles.

He’d probably be terrifying to most people, but Draco can’t help but feel in awe of the being before him as he moves his hands through particular motions. It takes Draco an embarrassingly long moment to realize these motions look a lot like _signs_.

“W-what?” he splutters in surprise, shaking his head in obvious confusion, and the merman rolls his eyes but keeps smiling.

The merman raises his hands and begins signing letters, spelling out what he wants to say. ‘A-R-E Y-O-U O-K-A-Y?’

Draco takes a shaky breath, the weight of the situation having finally caught up to him, and he slowly signs back, spelling everything out, ‘N-I-G-H-T-M-A-R-E.’

‘So young to have nightmares,’ the mermaid continues spelling out. It takes longer, but Draco hardly cares. He was communicating with a merperson! He was actually having a conversation with a resident of the Great Lake. It felt like a dream. A very good dream to counteract the bad.

‘Had them for years,’ Draco signs back with a shrug, still staring wide-eyed. ‘I can’t believe I’m talking to you.’

‘You are,’ the merman smiles. He seems incredibly friendly and Draco follows his gaze when he glances past him at the BSL books still propped up towards the windows. ‘You are smart… for a human.’

Draco feels himself flush, but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t want to miss a moment of this. ‘What is your name?’ he questions when the merman just floats there, silently watching him, and the aquatic beast smiles a little more playfully.

‘You could not pronounce it,’ he replies. ‘Call me Augi.’

Draco is struck with curiosity of what the merman’s actual name might be, but decides not to ask. Maybe, if they can talk again, he’ll bring it up. ‘Augi,’ he signs, speaking it aloud at the same time, and Augi nods once. His serene expression seems strange for his wild appearance, Draco thinks, but he thinks he likes it. ‘I’m Draco… Why talk to me now?’

‘You were upset,’ Augi shrugs, his yellow eyes crinkling in slight concern as he watches Draco through the glass.

‘Were you watching me?’

‘We always watch the humans. Your… ‘house’ is just easiest,’ Augi explains. Before Draco can ask another question, the merman looks behind him, further into the lake, as if he heard something. Draco cannot see any ears on him, though. ‘I am needed,’ Augi signs, looking back at Draco and staring at him for a few beats. Coming to some sort of decision the merman nods once. ‘I will get you help. Goodnight, Draco,’ he says and swims to the right, out of Draco’s view, in one fluid motion.

Draco moves forward, pressing his face to the glass of the window, trying to catch one final glimpse of the merman, but he can’t see anything. Only shadows of small fish as they move by.

Sagging slightly he steps back, hands falling uselessly to his sides as he stares out into the water. Had that really happened? Had he really managed to communicate with one of the merpeople? Despite the emptiness still in his chest from the nightmare, Draco begins to feel elated. Except… will it happen again? He’d hardly count that as a proper conversation. He’d very much like to speak with Augi many, many more times. Or any merperson.

“Draco…?”

The blonde startles and looks around, eyes wide, but it is only Harry, standing in his pajamas by the dorm room entryway. He’s rubbing his eyes under his crooked glasses but giving Draco a concerned look. It isn’t far from how Augi had looked.

“Harry? What are you doing up?” Draco whispers, not wanting to wake anyone else. Had he managed to disturb Harry’s sleep at some point? But he hadn’t even made any noise.

“Some tapping by my bed woke me up… Dunno what it was though,” Harry replies, words slurred on a yawn. “Why are _you_ up?”

Draco glances back at the window, brows furrowed. Augi said he was going to get Draco help. Had he really gone and woken Harry up just to make sure Draco wasn’t left alone? That… was incredibly sweet, actually. Especially for a creature that Draco had only just met. Then again… Augi said the merpeople were always watching them.

“You’re not going to believe what just happened,” Draco finally says, turning and smiling at his friend. Harry tilts his head like a puppy, confused and curious, even though his eyes are half shut with sleep.

They move back over to the couch Draco had previously been on and he relays his short interaction with Augi. Harry becomes a bit more aware as the conversation moves on, and grows serious when Draco admits to his nightmares.

“Just wake me up next time,” Harry says, bumping Draco’s shoulder, “I’ll sit with you, no problem.” And so he does. They sit in the common room for a long while, lapsing into silence as Draco continues to write his letters. Eventually he moves on to writing out a few more theories for possible spells and when he begins drawing out a chart for his work he feels Harry slump beside him. A little readjusting later has Harry curled on his side on the couch, wrapped up in a soft blanket, his feet pressing against Draco’s hip as he continues to work.

Then Draco blinks and suddenly he’s looking at the high ceiling. It takes him a few seconds to realize he had finally nodded off, head falling back on the couch, and someone is shaking him awake. He blinks, vision blurry, until he can focus on Blaise’s face right above him.

“Good morning,” he rumbles, because what else is he supposed to say?

Blaise’s lips twist in displeasure before he steps away and eyes the two boys on the couch. At some point Harry’s legs had stretched out and his feet had fallen in Draco’s lap. “You two are weird,” Blaise says matter-of-factly, arms crossed.

“Thanks,” Draco mumbles, still sleepy, but feeling better than he could have expected. Blaise rolls his eyes and turns, walking away now that his job is done.

Draco eventually manages to wake up enough to shake Harry awake, who seems momentarily embarrassed he’d fallen asleep until Draco smiles and thanks him for sitting with him. Then they’re both tripping to get ready for the day. They aren’t entirely successful, hair messier than usual, and Draco keeps his oversized hoodie on over his uniform.

“Where did you even get that?” Harry questions, looking at the hoodie. It was a turquoise color with slightly darker swirls all over it and the inside was lined with white fluff.

“My foster brother,” Draco yawns. “Every Christmas he saves up and gets everyone oversized, fluffy hoodies. He says they’re meant to be comforting.”

“Are they?”

Draco hums and flaps one of his arms, the sleeve flopping slightly over his hands. It is rather comical, in his opinion. “They are,” he nods, then remembers the letters he needed to send his foster family later. He should add a message on Fredericks and ask, if Draco sent a little extra cash, if he could buy a few extra of the hoodies for Draco’s friends at Christmas time. Harry and Hermione would love them…

.oOo.

All through October Hogwarts had slowly gained more and more Halloween decorations. By the actual final day of the month everywhere Draco looked there was some kind of charmed bat or cartoony ghost or floating candies. The pumpkins were his favorite though. He’d seen Hagrid growing the massive things for some time now and had, on more than one occasion, climbed up the largest ones and declared himself king of the gourds.

He stopped when Ron had climbed up and pushed him off.

“I could sleep in those jack-o-lanterns,” Tracey comments at breakfast, staring at the carved pumpkins in the corners of the Great Hall, her eyes sparkling behind her curtain of hair. Draco eyes her nervously but says nothing. He’d learned that was usually the best way to deal with the strange girl.

Draco had heard a lot about the Halloween feast from some of the older students and, with all the excitement for the day, Draco is soon forgetting all about his nightmare and is instead looking forward to the evening. They still have class, though, but it is a Friday and Lily seems to be in a spectacular mood for the holidays. She hands out candies at the beginning of class that they are allowed to nibble on during her lecture, then they are jumping right into their practical for Antidote of Common Poisons.

Harry sits with Draco today, which he thinks might be because of the night before, but he appreciates it too much to comment on it. Lily likes it when people jump around, anyway, and sit with new partners. The problem that arises, however, is Ron refuses to sit with Hermione and, after a truly ridiculous and complicated juggling of partners Hermione ends up sitting beside Pansy Parkinson, of all people.

The two girls are at the table just to Draco’s right. He shoots his friend sympathetic looks, but she has a stubborn set to her jaw that almost makes him feel bad for the Slytherin girl instead.

No ingredients get thrown, much to Draco’s relief, and when he glances over on multiple occasions the two girls are tensely, but silently, working together to get their joint potion finished.

“Stop worrying,” Harry whispers to him halfway through class and Draco shoots him a withering look. He doesn’t need to say anything about how ridiculous it is for Harry Potter to make a comment about worrying, it is understood by his expression and the way the raven-haired boy clears his throat.

He does try to stop worrying, though, and focuses on his and Harry’s work, but he was right to be concerned. With only a few minutes left to class, potions reaching their end stages, the hissed insults begin.

“It shouldn’t be that color,” Hermione whispers, looking into her cauldron, her hair messily braided back. Pansy looks at her with an unimpressed, half-lidded look.

“It’s fine. The color will change after we add--”

“No, no, it should be pale orange before we put in the mistletoe berries,” Hermione cuts her off and Pansy’s lips curl back unhappily. She usually is smiling when she’s being wicked or nasty, and only now does Draco realize how much that takes away some of the bite from her thoughtless comments.

“Oh, and perfect Granger knows best, does she?” Pansy hisses, rolling her eyes, and Hermione leans back, eyes wide in surprise at just how vicious the words are. “Do everyone a favor and shut up for once. No one likes listening to your know-it-all garbage, acting like you’re better than everyone else.”

“I-I don’t think…” Hermione splutters and she looks horrified.

“Whatever,” Pansy scoffs and turns back to the potion, shutting off any further conversation, and Hermione slumps in her seat.

Draco glares over at the table, silver eyes sharp as he tries to burn a hole through Pansy’s head. When he hears a snort behind him he turns around with a snap, furious and ready to bite someone’s head off. Ron at least startles a little, sitting just behind, working with Dean, but then he shrugs.

“What? Hate to admit it but Parkinson has a bit of a point,” the redhead says quietly.

“Ron,” Harry whispers weakly, expression pinched with displeasure. Draco knew Harry wasn’t a big fan of Hermione either, but he’d never made any scathing remarks about her and seemed especially disappointed with Ron’s.

“Everyone thinks it…” Ron whispers again, but he is apparently unsuccessful keeping quiet because Hermione abruptly stands up, hands in a messily bottled potion to a worried-looking Lily, then hurries out without looking at anyone. Many people stare after her, surprised by her abrupt exit, but then Draco is snarling and glaring at Ron once more. Ron doesn’t look back at him.

Class ends a moment later and before she can slip away Draco grabs ahold of Pansy’s arm in the corridor just outside of the classroom. To her credit she doesn’t yank free from him, instead looking coolly down at his hand until he lets go. He still keeps his glare in place.

“Is there a problem, Draco?” Pansy asks, voice cheerful even though she isn’t smiling. She looks condescending, actually.

“You’re the problem,” Draco snaps. People are watching them, he knows that, but he doesn’t care. “Why did you snap at Hermione like that?”

“Because she was being annoying,” Pansy shrugs, too relaxed for Draco’s liking. “She’s always being annoying. Everyone thinks it. Well.. everyone but you,” now she’s smirking and she flicks her short, black hair. “Have a thing for that frizzy headed know-it-all?”

“You think I need to have a crush on her to be near her?” Draco demands and his voice has turned icy. “Did you think - did any of you think - that maybe, just maybe, I don’t find her annoying because I actually got to know her?” Draco looks around at the crowd, furious at them all for ignoring his friend. They didn’t know what they were missing, if you asked him.

“Can we wrap this up?” Pansy questions, checking her nails and not looking at Draco. She looks mostly nonchalant but her shoulders have stiffened. Until then she had never been directly called out for her behavior like this. “She was being obnoxious, and I’m done with her holier-than-thou attitude.”

“Newsflash, Parkinson!” Draco near explodes, taking a step towards the girl and making her startle and look up at him. “Hermione is smarter than you! Hermione is smarter than anyone I know, and she was trying to help. That’s all she’s ever doing! Because, sorry to say this, but your potion was off and she was right. Get used to it!”

“Draco, calm down,” Sophie says from somewhere behind the blonde, but Draco is furious and sick of people mistreating his friend. He can manage people being mean to him or whispering he’s a dark wizard or making passive aggressive remarks, but he cannot handle people being cruel to the people he cares about.

“Hermione is brilliant and she earned it! She works hard every day to be as smart as she is. She didn’t grow up with any of this, unlike some people, Miss. Pureblood,” Draco snarls and jabs a finger at Pansy. Her wide eyes flick away sharply and she stares at the wall. “The only people acting like they’re better than anyone else are all of you _deciding_ you know Hermione when you don’t.”

Draco’s chest heaves as he leans back and glares at the group around them. Some look sheepish, some look defiant, and some, to his relief, are nodding in agreement. “Hermione did nothing wrong,” he says in a lower voice and Pansy bites her lip. “She wants to make friends just like anyone else. _So sorry_ she does that by trying to offer academic help.”

With that Draco readjusts his backpack straps then storms forward, pushing past a shell-shocked Pansy and making his way to the Great Hall for lunch.

Things don’t get much better from there. Greg and Vincent join Draco and Harry at the Slytherin table for lunch, but for the most part everyone else avoids the still fuming blonde. He doesn’t like losing his cool, but he was so done with the cruelty.

He keeps an eye out for Hermione through the meal, but she doesn’t appear. Later, after classes, Draco still can’t find her. Greg tells him she apparently holed herself up in the girls’ bathroom and Draco is tempted to ask Sophie, Daphne, or Vivian to go in and fetch her, he’s that worried. Harry convinces him otherwise, though, and they eventually head to the Great Hall for the Halloween Feast. They’re in a sedated mood, but the vibrant decorations and warm atmosphere help thaw some of it away.

Draco stuffs some of the candies that are on the tables into his backpack for later before digging into the meal. It’s a huge spread, much like the Welcoming Feast, but this time everything is Halloween themed. Draco’s favorite is the pumpkin pie, which he demolishes, and he’s going for another bite when Daphne, across from them, yelps. He looks up just as she’s bending down under the table, confused, and then she’s coming up with a very unhappy look on her face.

“I believe this is yours,” she says through gritted teeth, trying to keep her composure, and she holds out her hand where she grips a squirming Muddy.

“What’s she doing here?” Harry asks, reaching out to take the brown snake and rub his fingers down her body. Usually she loved having people spoil her, but tonight she squirms until Draco takes her.

“ _Dungeons! Monster! Someone let a monster into the dungeons!_ ” Muddy hisses, frantic, head flicking back and forth. Draco’s eyes widen.

“ _What?_ ” he says lowly, and the other Slytherins near him glance around to make sure no one heard him slip into Parseltongue.

“ _It smells dreadful! And it was big and made the ground shake when it walked,_ Muddy continues and, for a snake, she looks terrified.

“ _What could that be?_ ” Draco questions, looking around at everyone in alarm.

Draco’s thoughts are cut off as Professor Quirrell comes rushing into the Great Hall, a terrified shriek of, “TROLL!!” leaving his mouth as soon as he’s inside. “Troll in the dungeons!” he continues and the whole hall has fallen silent, staring at their DADA teacher as he finally stops in the middle of the hall. “Thought you ought to know.”

Then he sinks to the floor in a dead faint.

The students burst into an uproar of terrified shrieks and screams, but Draco feels himself go numb. He looks to Muddy, still in his hands, and the snake doesn’t even have the nerve to make a sarcastic comment. She simply wiggles until she can slither up and hide in the hood of Draco’s robes.

Muddy said a monster had been _let in_ to the school. By who, though? He glances towards the staff table as Dumbledore silences everyone with a few purple firecrackers from his wand. Sinistra is the first person Draco suspects, but she’s there, standing from her seat, face cold and calculating. Could it be a prank? For Halloween? Was this an appropriate prank, then? How dangerous were trolls?

“Alright everybody!” Gemma calls, cutting into Draco’s mind. She was taking charge after Dumbledore had told the prefects to bring everyone back to their houses… Like Slytherin’s house in the _dungeons_.

“How are we supposed to go back?” Millicent calls, apparently coming to the same realization and looking rightly terrified. “Our common room and the troll are in the same spot!”

“There are hidden passages that will be safe to take!” William calls, ushering the Slytherins along, looking more serious than he ever has before.

“Move quickly and quietly, people, come on!” Gemma sounds more like a military sergeant than anything.

They begin moving, still apprehensive, but what other choice do they have? Draco scowls and begins to march when Harry grabs his arm and yanks him to the side.

“What? What is it?” Draco questions, seeing how horrified Harry looks.

“Hermione!” he gasps and Draco stiffens. “She doesn’t know about the troll!”

“We have to find her,” Draco hisses, eyes darting around to make sure no one is looking at them. He’s thankful he doesn’t have to convince Harry, because the boy simply nods in agreement and they both use the crowd and chaos to slip away from the rest of their house.

“The girls’ bathroom is this way,” Harry whispers as they both rush through the corridors. Before they can go much further, however, both of them are grabbed at the arm and pulled back. Draco turns, ready to demand he be released, and he comes face to face with the youngest Weasley boy.

“What are you do--” he begins but Ron shushes him then points past them in the direction they had been going. Footsteps click just a second before Sinistra glides by, a pearly white wand in her grasp. She’s walking in the opposite direction of the dungeons, instead focused on the stairs, her expression as blank as ever save for a slightly more severe downturn of her lips.

“Where is she going?” Harry whispers, frowning, as Sinistra disappears from sight.

“Nevermind that!” Ron hisses, arms flailing. “Where are YOU TWO going?! There’s a troll on the loose!”

“And Hermione hasn’t been warned,” Draco snaps, shooting back a glare, before rushing forward and continuing in the direction of the girls’ bathroom. That was the last place anyone had known her to be.

“ _Hermione?_ ” Ron questions, sounding startled and disbelieving, but then he’s mumbling, “We better hurry, then,” and follows after Draco and Harry. Draco has no time nor energy to tell the redhead to get lost. He’s focused on finding his best friend.

It’s the smell that hits them first and Draco hears Muddy, right by his ear, hiss in distaste. Then, just down the corridor, comes the massive, ambling form of a mountain troll, a massive club in one hand. The three boys scramble back around the corner and peak out, breathing heavy.

“What’s it doing here?” Ron questions, “It’s supposed to be in the dungeons!”

“Trolls are stupid… maybe it started wandering?” Harry offers but Draco is very sharply shushing them. The troll had spotted a door large enough for it to go through and was heading for it. Draco stares, frozen, as realization hits him.

“Hey! We can lock that thing in there when it isn’t looking,” Ron suggests eagerly after spotting a key hanging in the door’s lock, but Draco roughly steps on his foot.

“No, you idiot! What room is that?” he snaps and he thinks he may start to hyperventilate.

“Uhh…”

“It’s the girls’ bathroom,” Harry gasps and Ron looks at him sharply, before also picking up just what that means.

“We need to get it away,” Draco says too quickly, stepping out into the corridor. The troll doesn’t spot him. “He can’t go in there. We… we need to…” He can’t think, panic setting in and keeping him from thinking of a good plan. He just needed to get that monster away from his friend, if she even was still in there.

“I got this,” Ron suddenly says, sounding sure of himself, and he steps into the corridor too before pulling out his wand, a raggedy, old thing. He grumbles, “Fred and George love waking me up with this…” then he raises his wand and calls, “ _Sonitu_!”

From the tip of Ron’s wand emerges a little, pink bubble like gum. It doesn’t get very large, maybe only two inches in diameter, before it pops with a far mightier, cracking noise than its size would suggest.

The troll looks up sharply at the noise, beady eyes landing on the three boys and stepping away from the door. Draco has only a moment to feel victorious when he realizes now that they’re the ones facing off against a troll.

“We could have planned this better,” Harry whispers, voice high, and Ron audibly gulps.

“We need to get it away and then we need to run,” Draco tries to sound surer than he feels, “That’s all. Just…” Unfortunately, none of them had considered that their noise-making would attract the attention of anyone else and they watch, in horror, as the girls’ bathroom door opens, and Hermione steps out, followed by… _Pansy_?

They don’t have a moment to feel shocked at the sight of the second girl - Draco realizes he hadn’t seen her since he’d told her off in the corridor - and the girls don’t have a moment to ask what is going on when they lay eyes on the troll that is far too close for comfort.

Hermione shrieks and the troll looks back at them, focus shifting yet again. “NO!” Draco yells and, feeling a burst of energy, raises his wand and calls, “ _Lumos Duo_!” A beam of light leaves his wand and strikes the troll in its eyes, making it reel away and roar, drool flying everywhere.

“Get over here! Hurry!” Harry calls and Hermione and Pansy leap into motion, attempting to run behind the troll to get to the boys, but the beast swings blindly with its club at the sound of footsteps. Hermione screams again and Pansy lets out a string of curse words no eleven-year-old should know.

It takes only a second of the boys silently looking at each other for them to jump into action. Harry runs forward first, wand in hand, and screams at the troll until it turns away from the girls. Ron, not far behind, moves to the other side of the corridor and yells as well, throwing off the troll’s focus. “This way!” Draco calls, waving at the girls to make their way towards him from behind the giant beast.

Hermione is up first and grabbing Pansy’s wrist, dragging her up and forward. They aren’t as fast, keeping an eye on the troll as it swings about, unable to decide who to attack. Draco thinks this may just work, his arms outstretched to grab the girls as soon as they are out of harm’s way, but just as they’re getting to him the troll’s club comes crashing onto the ground between them.

“Just go away already!” Ron screams, trying to grab the troll’s attention again, but it’s useless. Draco is too close and its beady eyes are glaring down at him. The club rises and Draco only has a moment of relief when he sees the girls are alright, having fallen backwards from the impact, before he’s being lifted up by his leg.

“Draco!” multiple voices call, but Draco’s entire focus is on the troll’s face as he’s suddenly much too close and upside down to it.

“Hello,” Draco squeaks and the troll snarls, large, ugly teeth peeking out and the blonde leans back when he gets a whiff of the troll’s breath.

Then the troll is raising its club with its other hand and Draco has only a second to bend his body upward to avoid the sideways swing of the weapon. Draco flops back, still hanging, and tries not to start hyperventilating when he realizes he had almost lost his head.

“I’d really appreciate it,” Draco begins to call, voice high, and he curls up again to avoid another strike, “if someone would DO SOMETHING!”

“ _Lumos Duo_!” Harry calls, doing what Draco had done earlier and blinds the troll for a second. It thankfully gets it to stop attacking Draco, attention elsewhere as it swings down towards the kids on the ground, but Draco is still hanging by his leg in the beast’s grip.

“Let him go!” Hermione yells while Pansy throws a Stinging Hex at the troll’s ear.

“I got an idea!” Ron suddenly calls as the troll turns towards the girls, club raised. “We learned it in Charms today!” The troll swings down and leaves a large crack in the ground where the girls had once been if Pansy hadn’t leapt and knocked Hermione and her out of the way.

“Do it already!” Pansy shrieks, furious and terrified, and Ron raises his wand.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” Ron yells, swishing his wand messily, but nothing happens and, before the troll can attack again, Harry blinds it to draw its attention back to him. “Uh…” Ron says dumbly, staring at his wand in mounting panic.

“You’re saying it wrong!” Hermione calls, scrambling backwards as the troll moves, but the beast’s focus is all on Harry now.

“Is now really the time?!” Ron yells, but he mostly still just looks scared.

“Do as she says, Weasley, or I’ll curse you out of existence!” Pansy shrieks, her own fear reaching its peak, and Draco thinks he quite agrees with her, but all the blood has gone to his head and he feels horribly nauseous.

“Wing-gaaar-dium Levi-O-sa!” Hermione calls and Ron, finally just listening for once in his life, raises his wand again just as the troll raises its club.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” Ron calls again and instead of a club coming down on Harry’s head the troll just ends up flinging its arm. Everyone, including the troll, stares in surprise at its empty hand, before the kids all look up to see the club floating above its head. Ron lets out a hysterical laugh before maneuvering the weapon higher and higher, then releasing his hold on it.

The club falls and clonks loudly over the troll’s head, making it waver and sway, eyes going cross-eyed. Then it begins to tilt backwards.

Draco is released from lax fingers and topples, a shriek leaving his mouth as he falls towards the ground in a horrifyingly familiar fashion and he screws his eyes closed. Before he can hit the ground, though, he hears Ron call another, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” and Draco finds himself stopping midair.

Draco blinks open his eyes to look over at the redhead in surprise, and Ron is grinning like a maniac, his wand pointed straight at him. “Gotcha!” he laughs, already sounding less crazed than when the troll was moving around.

“Are you okay, Draco?” Harry questions, rushing over and looking up at the floating boy.

“I’m alive,” the blonde wheezes and Ron slowly lowers him down until he can be placed on the ground safely. He feels terribly dizzy as he sits up straight, blood rushing back to the rest of his body, and a moment later Hermione is barreling into his side and hugging him.

“Oh, Draco!” the bushy-haired girl cries and Draco absently pats her back, still very dizzy.

“That was terrifying,” Pansy sighs, falling backwards and sitting on the ground, her short, straight hair a mess from sweat and stress. “What happened?”

“Someone let a troll into the school,” Harry says but then his eyes are narrowing at the Slytherin girl. “What are you even doing here?”

Pansy’s pale complexion immediately turns bright pink and she looks away, chewing at her bottom lip nervously. “I… uh…”

“She came to apologize to me,” Hermione pipes up, sitting back on her heels and keeping one hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“I didn’t…” Pansy begins to protest, but then stops herself and sighs. “Okay, yeah, I did…”

“You’ve never apologized to anyone before,” Harry says in wonder, looking between Pansy and Hermione.

“I only ever was just having fun!” Pansy protests, shoulders squaring. “Harmless picking!”

“Not many people would agree with that,” Ron grumbles and Pansy flinches, actually flinches, then looks nervously over towards Draco.

“I never meant to be… _cruel_ , you know. I talked to Professor Potter and Hermione had been right, our potion was wrong, and then I heard she hadn’t shown up to her classes and…” Pansy sighs, eyes moving from Draco to Hermione. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. Irritate you, maybe. Get you off my back, definitely. Not cry…”

“It’s okay,” Hermione smiles and from his vantage point Draco can see relieved tears springing into her eyes. He can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips, happy to see his friend looking so much better than she had for some time.

However, their reprieve doesn’t last as footsteps come rushing around the corner and a small gathering of teachers come hurrying towards them. Professor McGonagall is first, her usually stern face wild, and Sinistra and Quirrell follow after.

“What is the meaning of this?!” McGonagall demands, spotting the fallen troll and the group of gathered students. Her eyes are flashing with fury as she stares down at the children and Sinistra breezes past, impassive, to check the beast.

“Unconscious,” their Astronomy Professor announces, stepping away from the troll, and Quirrell visibly slackens with a sigh of relief.

“You all are lucky, then,” McGonagall speaks up again, taking a step towards the children and glaring down at them. “What has happened here?”

Draco opens his mouth, ready to start lying or begging for forgiveness, when Hermione wobbles to her feet and says, voice steady, “It was my fault, Professor.”

“Miss. Granger!”

“They came to rescue me, you see. I thought I could stop the troll - on account I have read so much about them - but I couldn’t…” Hermione says and Pansy chokes on her own spit while Ron actually drops his wand. Draco only just manages to contain his shocked expression as he stares up at his best friend, the girl facing off against three of their teachers and telling a flat lie.

This night really couldn’t get much stranger…

“They saved my life,” Hermione continues and looks around at them all. “They distracted it and blinded it until Ron managed to knock it out with its own club.”

“We would have gotten help,” Pansy says, jumping in to help, and she does a good job of looking honestly apologetic, “But there was no time. Swear it!”

“We’re sorry,” Harry mumbles, looking down at his feet. Draco can’t tell if he’s faking or is honestly sorry.

“Well, in that case…” McGonagall composes herself, straightening out her robes before staring, hard, at Hermione. “Miss. Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll all on your own?”

Hermione hangs her head and says nothing, simply accepting the telling off she was sure to get. “Five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,” McGonagall continues, eyes hard like stone. “I am very disappointed in you,” Draco actually flinches at those words, sympathetic for his friend, “If you are unharmed make your way back up to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their common rooms.”

With a silent nod Hermione leaves down the corridor, sparing the rest of them one final glance before turning around the corner.

McGonagall turns to the remaining four students, her eyes only marginally softer. “You all are lucky to have survived this, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win your house five points and Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

They scramble to get away, Harry holding onto Draco’s arm when he sways on his feet. Only when they’re finally out of earshot from the professors do they dare speak again.

“We should have gotten more than five points for something like that,” Ron grouses.

“Zero for Gryffindor, actually, when you consider Granger’s lost points,” Pansy smirks and Ron shoots her a very unhappy glare.

“Good of her to get us out of trouble like that,” Ron sighs, moving on, and Draco snorts.

“The lying was unexpected, granted, but I _did_ tell you none of you knew her very well,” he says, only with a slight edge to his words. Pansy looks away, abashed, and Ron turns pink.

“Hermione!” Harry suddenly exclaims and they look forward to see the bushy-haired witch waiting for them right where the Gryffindors and Slytherins would split for their common rooms.

“Brilliant work, Granger,” Pansy nods, stepping forward to set a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Don’t praise me for breaking the rules!” Hermione squeaks, looking utterly affronted when Pansy just shrugs and continues walking, apparently having said what she wanted. She probably was going to go off and find a way to weave a story out of this, Draco suspects, eying her back as she disappears towards the dungeons.

“Thank you,” Hermione cuts into their thoughts. She looks shy now, glancing up at Ron and Harry uncertainly. Draco, however, smiles when he catches her eye and steps forward to give her a tight hug.

“We’re glad you’re okay,” Harry says as Draco steps back and even Ron is nodding in agreement. Hermione, if possible, looks even more flustered now.

“Can we go and eat now?” Ron asks when the silence stretches on and Harry chuckles. “I’m starving!”

“You’re always starving,” Harry grins and Ron pouts but then they’re splitting up and beginning to head in the directions of their common rooms.

“You know the second we get up there Greg and Vince aren’t going to leave your side, right?” Draco hears Ron say to Hermione, who sighs deeply but in that pleasantly resigned way she does.

Harry and Draco enter their common room feeling exhausted but much more content than they probably should. Pansy is already there, sitting with some of the older students, a sugar quill already in her hand, and she offers a nod and a smile as the boys enter. She looks like she’s already telling stories…

“ _This was awful. I’ve hated this. I’m never coming back to this school ever again,_ ” Muddy hisses as she slithers out from Draco’s robes. At some point she had hidden further within without Draco noticing and now she lets him hold her in his hands.

“ _So moody, Muddy,_ ” Draco smirks down at her.

“ _Shut up. This is all your fault,_ ” Muddy snaps back and Draco hums innocently.

“What’s she saying?” Harry asks, as they walk further into the common room, eyes on all the food that had been brought down. Draco really wanted another piece of the pumpkin pie.

“Oh,” Draco begins and stops beside where Daphne is sitting with Sophie and Tracey around the fire. “Just that she’s sorry for scaring Daphne earlier.” Daphne looks up, surprised by his appearance, before smiling pleasantly.

“ _That is not at all what I said,_ ” Muddy hisses unhappily but Daphne is already reaching out for her.

“Aw, it’s okay Muddy, I forgive you,” Daphne coo’s and Draco gratefully dumps the snake into his classmate’s waiting hands to be properly spoiled. He hears no further protests.

“Draco! Harry!” Vivian calls, splitting away from where she’d been talking with her blonde friend with the wide set eyes - Draco thinks his name was Jason - to approach the boys. “Go get your CD player! I got a new CD from my little brother this morning!”

Curiosity momentarily wins over Draco’s stomach and he quickly fetches the CD player from his room. When he returns Vivian takes it while Harry hands him a plate he’d prepared quickly. It has a generous slice of pumpkin pie on it. Draco nods his thanks before digging in.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks Vivian as she pops her Halloween CD into the player. She grins at them then sets the device on a table in the middle of the room, headphones set beside them, muffled music already playing from them. She points her wand, a twisted thing with a metal handle, at the headphones.

“ _Sonorus_!” she says brightly and suddenly the sound is amplified until it fills the entire room clearly. Draco, startled, laughs brightly as “Monster Mash” plays through the common room, a few Slytherins getting up to dance when the music picks up even though he doubts they know the song.

“You are teaching me that spell later,” he smirks up at the redhead, who grins back at him and nods, for once not asking for anything in return.

“You know,” Harry begins when Vivian runs off, singing at the top of her lungs, “Despite the blood chilling terror of fighting an actual mountain troll… I think this might be my favorite Halloween ever.”

Draco glances at him, then looks back over the common room. Everyone is smiling or laughing or dancing or singing. Even Theodore has been dragged onto the “dancefloor” where an older student, probably a half-blood, attempts to teach him how to do the Monster Mash dance. The room is filled with life and excitement and Draco feels himself smile warmly.

“I think I have to agree,” he says back to Harry.

A little while later, their food finished, Draco convinces Harry to let him teach him how to dance to “Thriller” when it comes on. It’s a mess, everyone laughing hysterically, but Draco doesn’t care. He’s happy and content.

The next morning, to Draco’s great delight, Ron and Hermione join them at the Slytherin table, talking to each other as friends, and Pansy tosses all four of them sugar quills she’d stashed from the night before. It makes Hogwarts, for the first time, feel like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! I also wanted to say everyones kind comments since my loss have really been a great help and make me happy anytime I read them. Thank you all so much and I hope you are all having a marvelous day!
> 
> Chapter Song: [Monster Mash - Bobby Pickett](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOFCQ2bfmHw)


	12. And There Were Two

“A troll!” James Potter exclaims as Lily fawns over their son. “You actually fought a troll! Your first year is so much more interesting than mine had been.” Lily shoots him a displeased glare and the man has the good grace to look sheepish.

The Saturday after Halloween was also the first Quidditch game of the season. Slytherin was playing Gryffindor - Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were on Sunday - and James Potter had gotten the day off his Auror work to come watch his son.

Draco, for the time being, watched from a distance as Harry grew more and more flustered. They would need to head for the locker room soon to get changed, but for now Draco could wait and enjoy the show.

After a very pleasant breakfast Draco had made his way to McGonagall’s office to ask her if there was any news on getting him a new broom. Vivian’s anti-jinx clasp made Draco feel a bit more at ease, but only just, and he really felt a broom of his own would make him more confident about the whole thing.

No luck, however. Not for this game, anyway. She had said ordering a broom would probably be the best option at this point, but he shouldn’t worry too much since Sinistra’s Turbo XX was in such good shape.

Draco had left feeling a bit dejected and tried to distract himself with his colorful Wand-Lighting practice until he came upon the Potter’s in the Entrance Hall. Ron was there, too, and Draco ended up standing beside him as they watched, both boys grinning whenever Harry shot them a despairing look.

“Malfoy! Potter! It’s time to get ready!” Marcus Flint cuts off their fun as he storms out of the Great Hall. His voice isn’t as biting as it usually is and Draco suspects it’s because of the presence of not only a teacher, but also an auror.

“ _Me?_ Oh boy, I can’t wait, captain!” James exclaims with a high pitched, gleeful voice and a very wicked grin on his face. Flint falters, obviously not sure what to say, and both Lily and Harry sigh.

“He meant me, dad,” Harry mumbles quietly and James immediately starts to laugh.

“No problem, kid, I won’t go stealing your thunder,” he says, ruffling Harry’s hair.

“You weren’t even a Seeker,” Harry continues to mumble and Draco finally approaches, smiling charmingly up at his friend’s father.

“Yeah, if you were to out stage anyone it would be me,” he says. Harry had told him before his father was a Chaser. It had helped when they practiced alone, Harry familiar with the position more than expected. 

“Don’t encourage him,” Lily sighs, shaking her head, and Flint finally seems fed up and storms off. James laughs at that while Draco and Harry, hoping to keep a lecture from their captain to a minimum, hurry after.

The speech Flint gives in the locker room is horribly predictable. “Do everything to win.” “If you aren’t caught it isn’t cheating.” “There are no friends on the pitch.”

Draco sighs, getting his green, Quidditch gear on while the rest of the team hangs off every word out of their captain’s mouth. 

This game was bringing up a complicated soup of emotions. He was anxious both to play for the first time as well as being out in the open where Sinistra could get to him. He was excited to play and fly and hopefully win, but he was agitated with his team and their methods.

He wanted to fly, Draco loved flying so much, but there were so many unexpected factors messing up his head. He hardly even realized he was squeezing the handle of his broom so hard his knuckles were turning as white as a sheet.

Out on the pitch Draco’s head is momentarily filled with white noise as he’s bombarded with the cheers of the crowd. The stands are filled with students from every house, separated into sections much as the Great Hall’s tables, with signs flapping around and all kinds of magical noisemakers. 

Draco spots the Gryffindor first years after a few seconds of searching. There’s a color-changing sign above their heads that reads “Lions Eat Snakes” with a drawing of a lion head biting a cartoony snake. Draco wonders if Hermione threw a fit over that, especially considering real lions didn’t actually eat snakes.

They look to be cheering just like everyone else but seem tense at the same time. Hermione, Ron, and Seamus all have their wands in hand and keep glancing across the pitch at the staff stands. All of the teachers and visiting parents sit there, bundled up for the cooling weather, and clapping at a much more subdued rate than the students (except for James).

Sinistra is also there, and Draco knew she’d be, but it still makes his blood run cold. There hadn’t been any further attempts on Draco’s life since the fall, and beside her mysterious behavior during the troll attack Sinistra had acted like she normally would. It made Draco confused and curious, but now he would be back on his broom, in perfect sight of her, and his fears resurface.

His Head of House is sitting near the back, right behind a terrified-looking Quirrell, her hands folded calmly in her lap, and wearing her usual galactic robes, but these are tinted Slytherin green with more silvery stars.

The Slytherin stands are to the right of the staff’s, green flags and banners decorating the tall, wooden seats, and Draco sees Vivian sitting right beside the staff stands with her wand in hand and a very serious look on her face.

Draco feels a little bit more at ease seeing all of his friends ready to jump into action if necessary, and the knowledge of having Auror James Potter present doesn’t hurt either, but it is only when Draco lays eyes on Dumbledore does he begin to truly feel confident. He hardly knew Dumbledore, had mostly only heard things about him, but seeing the famous headmaster present in the stands makes Draco feel like everything is going to be okay.

Harry must pick up on his newfound composure because when Draco looks over the Seeker is grinning at him.

The Gryffindor team meets them in the middle of the pitch with Madam Hooch playing referee. They are led by their captain, Oliver Wood, who always seemed very intense to Draco, and he spots the twins right behind him. The Chasers, Draco’s direct competition, were three women he hardly knew. Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet. The Seeker was slightly familiar as well, one of William Ward’s many, many siblings, Titus Ward, who looked at Harry like Harry might bite off his head.

“I want a good, clean game,” Madam Hooch is saying, and Draco focuses back on her. She’s giving Flint and his older players a pointed look and Draco tries not to sigh. He hates how stuck up his team is. He hates that they have a reputation for cruelty. And part of Draco wishes he didn’t love flying so much so he wouldn’t have to deal with these jerks anymore.

But he does and he wasn’t going to let his team and their sour personalities get in the way of Draco actually doing something he loves.

“Mount your brooms, please,” Hooch instructs and Draco quickly gets onto the Turbo XX, glancing nervously at the broom and the bangle on its handle. Harry and the twins have matching bangles, as well.

Madam Hooch glances around at the players, making sure everyone is mounted and ready to go, and then she gives a great blast of her silver whistle and everyone springs into motion. Fifteen brooms are up in the air in an instant and Draco spots the Quaffle already in Angelina Johnson’s arms. He makes chase just as he hears a loud, familiar voice speak over the pitch.

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor - what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too--”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Draco spares a glance over to where Lee Jordan is commentating over the game, McGonagall by his side and giving him a stern glare, and the blonde smirks. Of all the people to run commentary Lee Jordan seemed like equal parts the best and worst choice possible.

But Draco’s attention quickly focuses back on the game. He feels the wind whip through his hair as he races after the grouping of Chasers vying for the Quaffle. Johnson maneuvers through the air like a fish in water, fluid and graceful. Adrian Pucey dives for her side, hand snatching for the Quaffle, but Johnson does a trick flip that sends the Slyhterin Chaser spiraling out of control.

Flint manages to surprise Johnson, however, taking a nasty swipe at the back of her broom, and she tosses the Quaffle to Spinnet. It is then that Draco flies past the other players, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, and snatches the Quaffle from Spinnet before she can get a proper grip on the ball. His opposing Chaser squawks indignantly, looking furious, but Draco is already curving around the edge of the field and making his way to the goal posts.

He hardly even realizes how hard he’s grinning as he flies, ducking a Bludger that makes a wide arc at him, then passing the Quaffle to Flint when Bell gets too close for comfort. The sound of cheering goes in and out of his attention, same with Lee Jordan’s erratic commentary and McGonagall’s reprimands. His earlier fears vanish as suddenly the game is all he can focus on.

They get the Quaffle close to the goals, but one of the Weasley twins throws off their rhythm with a well-aimed Bludger and, in a short struggle, the ball in back in Gryffindor’s possession.

Gryffindor gets the first point after that. The Chasers pull off an impressive juggling act, passing it back and forth and weaving through the Slytherins, before getting just past the Keeper and scoring.

It doesn’t deter Draco, however, his eyes thin as he rushes after the Quaffle, snags it out of the air, and begins flying low to the ground. He has to admit he’s a little proud of that quick catch. Harry had been helping him with it, said he had some Seeker qualities in him they should exploit, and now it was paying off.

Bell and Johnson end up low to the ground as well, flying after him, and a quick glance up tells Draco that Flint is being covered by Spinnet. That makes things easy, Draco thinks, as he hurls the Quaffle to Pucey with no hindrance. The momentum almost gets thrown off again by the Bludger, however, but one of their own Beaters, Tina Kite, smashes the half-sentient ball out of the way.

Slowly both teams manage to build up their scores. Oliver Wood is an amazing Keeper, but Slytherin is ruthless to the point Draco almost feels bad for him. Almost. He’ll probably feel worse once the adrenaline and joy of the game wears off, but right now he has forgotten all of his previous misgivings.

Quidditch is amazing. He wishes he could stay up in the air, laughing and jeering forever. He is only shaken out of his giddy euphoria when a surge of cheers surrounds him and he hears the tail end of Lee Jordan’s, “--with Potter and Ward after it!”

Draco pauses just long enough to catch sight of the two Seekers rocketing towards the stands. Both look intense and focused, but it is almost embarrassingly clear Harry has the advantage. He’s progressively moving farther and farther ahead of Ward, even when they both swerve and turn, both after the faint glint of gold.

“Head in the game, Malfoy!” Flint snaps near his ear, making him jerk in surprise. His captain is glaring at him before he’s flying back into the struggle for the Quaffle.

The other Slytherin Beater, some boy with the unfortunate name Matthew Matthews, smirks at him from a distance and calls, “Game ain’t over yet!”

Draco scowls, but flies back into action. He stays on the outskirts of the struggle, avoiding Bludgers, and looks for an opportunity to fly in. The strategy had worked for him well in the past, and he had no reason to abandon it yet.

Gryffindor is making its way to the goal posts, Draco just about ready to strike, when there’s a cacophony of noise from the stands and Lee Jordan’s voice is cutting through again. “OHHH! That is a nasty fall! Can someone check if he’s aliv--”

“JORDAN!”

“AH, oh! Look, Potter’s a-okay!”

Draco blinks and looks around. What had happened? Someone had fallen?

Panicked the blond looks down to the grass below. Sure enough Harry is down there, slowly standing up, his broom not far away on the ground. He seems unharmed from here, but he’s clutching at his mouth and heaving. Draco is flying down towards him before he can think of what he’s doing, worry taking over as he ignores Flint’s calls.

“Harry! Are you--” But he doesn’t get to finish. With one more heave Harry is spitting something shiny and gold into his hands and looking at it in wonder. Draco lands a few paces away and stares in equal bafflement as the Snitch sits calmly in his friend’s palms.

“Harry… You…” Draco begins and he and Harry exchange wide-eyed, startled stares, before Jordan is finishing the sentiment for them and all of the gathered students.

“HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE GOLDEN SNITCH!” 

Like a dam has been broken the stands erupt into cheers, no one seeming to care that this means Slytherin is the victors. Not after such a remarkable show.

Harry is grinning in disbelief and Draco laughs in amazed delight and springing forward, hugging the other boy tight around his shoulders. “You did it!” he exclaims, leaning away, and Harry nods.

“I did it!” he agrees, seeming to still be coming to terms with the situation.

“He caught the Snitch!” exclaim voices from above them as their team flies down to join them. Even Pucey and Matthews hop off their brooms to join in on the hug, all previous animosity forgotten in the face of their victory.

“I caught the Snitch!” Harry repeats, his eyes crinkling as Pucey manages to get their little group to start hopping up and down.

“Yeah! With his mouth!” chortles another voice from above and when they glance up they find Fred and George smirking down at them. The rest of the Gryffindor team is landing some ways away, looking crestfallen and exhausted, but the twins don’t seem overly upset, despite their teasing.

Harry makes a gagging noise and glances down at the Snitch still in his hand. Up close Draco can see the remnants of spit still covering it. He can’t help but cringe in sympathy.

“At least it’ll be memorable,” Harry mumbles and Draco snorts and rolls his eyes.

“That’s a word for it.”

They are eventually ushered off the field by their team after all the official announcements are made, properly awarding Slytherin the victory. The locker room is abuzz with activity as they go about peeling off their uniforms. The dour, ruthless attitude from before the game is gone, everyone grinning and laughing and patting Harry on the back. Even Flint cracks a smile and gives the bespectacled boy a nod.

Draco wonders if all the talk, all the posturing and demands to win at all costs, is really just that; talk. They’re all kids, after all. Maybe they’re nervous like everybody else.

Then again, they had hardly made any effort to behave sportsmanly during the game. Draco had been distracted by how much fun he had been having, but looking back he could see all the places his own teammates had broken the rules or played dirty.

Maybe it was a combination…

That was something to consider for another time, however, because the atmosphere really was invigorating. Bletchley takes it upon himself to give Draco a few pointers on his technique since he was able to watch from afar. Kite lifts Harry up on her shoulder at some point and walks him around the room so everyone can cheer for him, making Harry blush bright red. No one seems to remember that they apparently didn’t like Harry, either, for being “half-blood,” now that he’s won them a game. It is surreal and exciting and neither Draco nor Harry can stop grinning.

When they leave the locker room there are people already waiting for them. James Potter surges forward first and promptly scoops Harry up, hugging him and swinging him through the air.

“That’s my boy! That’s my son! My son won his first game! You ATE the Snitch! I’m so PROUD of you!” The elder Potter keeps going and going, ignoring his son’s protests. The protests are weak, though, because Harry is giggling through most of them, a big smile on his face, and when James finally stops throwing him around the place it gives Lily the opening to surge forward and pepper kisses against her son’s face.

“MOM!” Harry yelps, but the entire family is smiling and laughing, Lily and James gushing over their son and his win.

Draco leans back to watch, a small smile on his own face as he observes how much energy and love this family has for each other. They have their issues, he knows after observing Harry so closely, but right in this moment they are one, happy entity. They love each other so, so much and it makes Draco…

It makes Draco…

The smile dims as he watches, a tight feeling in his gut making him nervous. What is that feeling? It’s certainly not good… But he should be happy. They’ve won their first game, Harry is the star of the day, and he’s being gushed over by two, loving parents. Draco shouldn’t be feeling anything bad.

No, he was being completely unreasonable, and with more effort than usual he stamps down on the emotion he refuses to name and forces it deep down and away.

His smile brightens and he focuses on the rest of the group.

Surprisingly, or not so, it appears most of the people waiting for Harry and Draco are Gryffindors. The rest of the team has members of their own house waiting to grab them and congratulate them, but that isn’t the case for the two, first-year boys.

Hermione is the first to smile directly at Draco and step forward, wrapping him up in a hug and squeezing him tight. “I didn’t understand most of what was going on up there,” she admits near his ear, “but I know you were amazing.”

“You were!” Ron agrees loudly, coming towards the two with a big smile on his face. Draco eyes him in surprise, releasing Hermione and glancing over at the Potters. He would have expected Ron would approach Harry first to offer congratulations. Ron must pick up on the silent question because he shrugs. “I know it’ll be a while before Mr. or Mrs. Potter set Harry free.”

“So you’re not upset Slytherin totally destroyed you?” Vivian chortles, coming over and leaning her arm on top of Ron’s head. She’s the only Slytherin waiting in their little group. The ginger scowls and shoves at her, making her step away and laugh.

“Oh, don’t get cocky. The House Cup is still anybody’s game,” he retorts, fists clenched and face stiff with determination.

“So competitive,” Draco stage sighs, shaking his head and shrugging, making Ron glare at him next.

“You don’t get cocky, either. You’d be insufferable.”

“I’m not already?” Draco smiles sweetly. Hermione rolls her eyes at that while Vivian barks a laugh at Ron’s reddening face.

“You both really were amazing,” comes a quiet voice from the edge of the gathering and Draco smiles over at Greg, Vincent, and Neville.

Vincent nods in agreement and goes through a few, swift signs, Greg watching carefully before translating, “Don’t expect Gryffindor to go easy on you, though. Lions eat snakes, you know.”

Hermione groans at that and Draco smirks. “Do they, now?” he hums and Hermione jabs his side.

“You and I both know they don’t. Stop encouraging them!”

“I’m sure lions could eat snakes if they needed to,” Draco shrugs innocently and Hermione’s glare hardens.

“It is not a major part of their diets. Insinuating otherwise is irresponsible,” the bushy-haired girl snaps.

“By Merlin, make her stop,” Ron groans and Hermione’s attention swings towards him. Draco backs away, still smirking, as Hermione’s lecture changes targets.

“Draco!” A heavy arm suddenly falls over Draco’s shoulder, startling him and making his head snap up. James Potter has seemingly released his son and is now grinning down at Draco, all teeth and good cheer. “You, my boy, are one fine Chaser! I will ignore that your talents are wasted on a team like Slytherin,” the last part James says with enough flippancy to indicate he’s joking, but it still makes the blonde’s hackles rise.

“Oh, uh… Thank you, Mr. Potter. That’s high praise coming from such a seasoned Chaser yourself,” Draco says carefully, one eyebrow arching, “How long ago did you play, again? Thirty? Forty years?”

“Ouch!” James says, leaning away and placing his hand over his heart, “You wound me!”

Giggles behind him indicate Lily and Harry have also come over, Harry leaning close to his mother, and Draco hardly has a moment to protest before Lily is leaning down and hugging him tight. “You were so good out there, Draco. We’re so proud of you,” she says lowly, Draco’s shoulders stiff.

Okay, he really did not know how to handle Harry’s parents outside of class…

Thankfully Lily releases him before it becomes even more awkward for him, and Harry comes over to bump their shoulders, smiling not unlike his father. “We were brilliant,” he says quietly, more confidence in his voice than Draco has ever heard before, and it sets his smile back into place.

“Yeah, we really were.”

.oOo.

The celebrations last for most of the day for Draco and Harry. It seemed being on friendly terms with so many Gryffindors meant fewer soar losers and more people willing to offer congratulations. Titus Ward, Gryffindor’s last-minute Seeker, even comes over to shake Harry’s hand.

James and Lily were especially supportive of their son, but also made sure to include Draco in their praising. It made the tight feeling in his gut from before lessen more and more, but he still refused to put a name to it. James even offered a series of pointers from one Chaser to another, claiming he’d spotted Draco’s “wait and strike” technique, but knew he’d need more skills under his belt if he wanted to remain a threat.

Eventually, however, James has to leave and most of the Gryffindors have gone back to their common room. They all offer their final congrats and, after he’d said good-bye to his family, James pulls Draco a few feet away.

“It was good seeing you and my son up in the air today,” he says lowly and Draco nods absently, eying the man in confusion. That seemed like an odd thing to say if he was going to be pulling him to the side like this.

“Thank you, sir,” he offers, and James nods, before smiling sadly.

“Padfoot’s sorry he couldn’t make it,” he says, but when Draco stares at him blankly, he backtracks. “Right, sorry, Sirius I mean.”

“Oh…” Draco’s brows rise in surprise, before he’s shrugging weakly and glancing away. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah, well, he’s still sorry. He’s a big baby, y’see, and he’s all worried what you’ll think of him,” James rolls his eyes, tone light, “He acts all cool and relaxed, but he can be almost as bad as Moony if he really gets going. Seriously…”

“Really,” Draco says a bit more firmly, “It’s okay.” He had wanted to meet Sirius, had hoped he might show up when he’d found out James Potter would be showing up, but when he hadn’t Draco had felt both disheartened and a little relieved. “I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if he’d shown up anyway.”

For now, the letters were enough.

James offers a firm pat on his shoulder before offering his final good-byes and finally heading off. Draco turns back towards Harry once the Auror has disappeared around the corner, finding the boy waiting patiently, his mother also absent.

“Want to go visit Hagrid?” Harry asks eagerly when Draco reaches him, “We can grab Ron and Hermione on our way.”

Draco smiles at him and nods, the two boys walking side by side in search of their friends. They find them in the Great Hall, and they aren’t alone. Fred, George, and Vivian are with them and they all look grimmer than they ought to.

“Hey guys!” one of the twins begins, trying to sound cheerful, “Good game today.”

“What’s going on?” Draco cuts to the chase, eyes hardening when their gathering of friends falls silent.

Finally, Hermione sighs and motions towards Vivian. “Vivian saw something during the Quidditch game,” she offers and all attention moves to the red-haired girl.

“Neither of y’all had any issue with your brooms, right?” she questions first and both Harry and Draco shake their heads.

“Fred and me didn’t, either,” George offers helpfully.

“Good, then the charms worked…” Vivian hesitates before shaking her head and forcing a determined look onto her face. He huffs then turns her hard gaze onto Draco alone. “Someone tried to jinx your broom during the game too. I know because I was right next to the staff stands.”

“I know. I saw you,” Draco nods.

“When you say ‘someone’…” Ron begins slowly, eyes narrowed suspiciously, and here Vivian sighs desperately.

“I didn’t hear nothin’, the cheering was too loud, but I saw… well, here’s the weird part. I saw Sinistra mumbling some gibberish, but I _also_ saw Professor Quirrel mumbling something too!”

“Quirrel?” Harry repeats, flabbergasted, his eyes widening to saucers.

“It could have been a countercurse,” Hermione offers quickly, hands folded on top of the table. “He had no reason to believe Professor Sinistra’s jinx wouldn’t work and he was ready to counter it.”

“Quirrel was trying to save me?” Draco asks, baffled, but then considers that. As frightened as he was, Quirrel was still the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He must have some experience under his belt dealing with jinxes.

But something doesn’t fit here. Something isn’t quite making sense…

“Wait…” he says slowly, eyes widening, “Wasn’t Quirrel sitting in front of Sinistra?” he questions, “How could he have known she was casting anything?”

“Maybe he heard her?” Fred suggests, but George is quick to disagree.

“No way! It was way too loud for that.”

“Yeah. I was right there and I couldn’t here either of them,” Vivian nods, her own expression pinched in concern.

“So… what? Quirrel was the one doing the cursing?” Ron questions, not sounding like he buys it, “That doesn’t make any sense, though!”

“Doesn’t it, though?” Harry says after a few beats. “We don’t know who tried to attack Draco on the Astronomy Tower. All we know is Sinistra was ‘looking for something’ afterwards.”

“And we know she can sense when people pass through her wards,” Vivian says, her own face brightening up with realization. “Maybe when she was checking on us the next day… she really was just worried! In her weird, Sinistra way.”

“That doesn’t mean it was Quirrel! I mean, come on, have you seen the guy?” Ron protests, his own brows furrowing.

“True… But he was the one that found the troll,” Hermione cuts in, wagging her finger absently in front of her while she thinks. “If it had been Professor Sinistra the troll would have gotten in earlier, since we saw her at the Feast, and Muddy would have fled much earlier than we know she did.”

“That STILL doesn’t mean it’s Quirrel!” Ron’s voice rises some and he’s immediately hushed.

“I hate to admit it… but Ron’s right,” Draco says slowly, eyes distant. He felt almost like he was taking after his foster mother now, looking at evidence like a lawyer might and trying to build a scenario out of it. “It is all very suspicious, but it doesn’t prove that it is Quirrel. It puts further doubt on Sinistra’s involvement, though. We can’t be sure exactly who it might be. Plus, as far as we know, both lack a motive.”

“We should spy on them!” Fred speaks up suddenly, eyes coming alive with a fire that makes Drace weary.

“Good idea, Fred! We should follow them around. See what they get up to. Find out what secrets lie beneath Quirrel’s turban.”

“Don’t you guys already try to do that?” Vivian asks, cocking her head in thought.

“It smells like death and it has to hold secrets!” George immediately retorts.

“And now we’ll have a proper excuse to really dig into the mystery,” Fred grins.

“Well, count me in!” Vivian grins right back, “I can get to Sinistra easier than you two, so we can work as a team on this.”

“We can’t ask you to do this,” Hermione says hesitantly, looking torn. She appeared to be fighting the urge to point out the breach in rules this mission would surely cause. She was probably just as curious as Draco was to know who apparently wanted him dead in this school.

“I can,” Draco says firmly, looking to the twins and Vivian with a serious expression. “We’re counting on you to figure this out. We’ll keep out of your way unless you need us.”

“Aye aye, captain!” Vivian mock salutes before blowing a raspberry at them.

“Leave this to the big kids, alright? We got this!” Fred winks.

“To our secret fortress!” George exclaims and springs to his feet. 

Fred and Vivian are close behind him, and as they begin to head out of the Great Hall Draco catches Vivian questioning lowly, “We have a secret fortress?” and the twins dramatically hushing her.

That leaves Draco, Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone in the Great Hall. It isn’t time for any meals, yet, and plenty of students are probably off having fun after such an invigorating game of Quidditch.

“So…” Draco begins slowly after the silence stretches on for too long. “You guys wanna go say hello to Hagrid?”

Hermione and Ron jump at the chance for a distraction, mumbling affirmatives, and the four quickly head out of the castle. Hagrid greets them warmly when they get to his hut, all smiles and warm congratulations to Harry and Draco. Tea is made and they all enjoy a pleasant evening away from all their concerns.

Yet, Draco can’t help but look around at all the little pieces of Hagrid’s life. Carvings of beasts, the occasional pitter-patter of animals searching for food, the massive dog laying across Harry’s feet this very moment. It was no secret that Hagrid liked beasts of all shapes and sizes, and despite Draco’s best interest to distract himself this evening he cannot help but be presented with one other issue they have yet to solve.

What about the three-headed dog?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while hasn't it? I'm so sorry for the wait, life has been hellish, and now I'm back to being a full time student in college. (damn you major changeeeeeee!)
> 
> But I hope I will be able to continue updating. I am uncertain when I will be free, so I can't promise a very consistent schedule... but I hope to continue this as best I can.
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful day and that you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Also, if you want to follow me on any other platforms I have a [Tumblr](https://lunarthedragon.tumblr.com) and a [twitter](https://twitter.com/LunartheDragon) (Which I literally just made and have done NOTHING on...) I am most ofter on Tumblr.
> 
> Chapter Song: [A Child With Lawyers - John Mulaney](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2di4q7ZpiM) (not really a song, but can you imagine Draco with Mrs. Nubble???)
> 
> Okay, okay, an actual song. I've been listening to this artist a lot, lately! [Mistadobalina - Del the Funky Homosapien](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e29ZR1MNOUA)


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